All's Fair in Love and Piracy
by Carrot Top
Summary: She was the beloved niece of Captain Flint. He was a handsome young pirate on the Walrus. It was a romance that was never supposed to happen, but love, as it turns out, has a mind and a plan of its own. Yet when things start to get complicated and outside influences threaten to destroy their secret romance, will their love survive? Billy/OFC. T for lang, violence, and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**The last thing I should be doing is starting another story, but this just wouldn't leave me alone until I finally wrote it down. Damn these pirates!**

**This story is set before the events of the show. Since we don't really know much about the characters' personal backgrounds, I thought I'd take a little liberty with Billy Bones' history and play around with it. So this story begins right when he first joins the crew of the ****_Walrus _****and then (if it goes that far) will somewhat follow his rise in rank until he's appointed boatswain. Also, this is sort of a "feeler" chapter – if it gets a good response, I'll keep going with it. If not...well, I tried.**

**On the subject of Anne Bonny - after doing some research on the interweb I'm not so sure she was pirating in the Caribbean at this particular point in time. But since this is fiction, I'm saying that she was! See what I did there? Yay fiction!**

**Anyway, I think that's enough from me. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Black Sails.**

* * *

_Chapter One_

_Nassau, 1713_

It was just another ordinary day on New Providence Island. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun was bright and warm, and the streets were teeming with people from all walks of life. Merchants and vendors shouted about their goods, trying to catch the attention of potential customers. A gaggle of prostitutes loitered in front of the brothel, their sultry eyes, seductive smiles, and revealing attire making any man standing nearby leer at them with greedy desire. Loud singing could be heard from the tavern, despite the fact that it wasn't even midday, as pirates freshly returned from a long sea journey washed their cares down with copious amounts of rum. Quite suddenly the noise from the tavern rose in volume, and those within the near vicinity watched as a man that had gotten a little _too _rowdy was thrown out into the street.

"An' you'll do well 'ta _stay out_!" An angry tavern worker shouted, wagging a threatening finger at the drunken man. "Or Ms. Guthrie will 'ave _much _worse done 'ta you!"

The drunken man shouted something only half-coherent in return, but it was enough to set the tavern worker off – without any warning or preamble, the worker suddenly launched himself at the man and tackled him to the ground, much to the delight of the crowd now cheering on the ensuing fight.

With all the commotion on the street, nobody paid any attention to the figure slowly, patiently weaving through the crowd. It was hard to be sure whether the figure was a man or a woman because their face was hidden beneath the bill of leather hat, but the baggy men's attire they were wearing suggested the former. While the two scuffling men rolled around in the street throwing fists at each other, the person merely passed by without even a glance toward the two. The rest of the on-looking crowd might be enjoying the show, but the scrum was of no importance to this unnoticed individual – the bald, slightly chubby man the person was currently _following_, however, was.

Pulling the bill of their hat further down so as to make sure their face was shielded, the pursuer quickened their step, leaving the fight and the cheering crowd behind as the chubby man turned a corner and momentarily disappeared from sight. The follower turned the same corner only moments later, but then promptly had to merge with a nearby group to avoid getting detected – the chubby man must have sensed that he was being followed. He had come to a halt and was now peering curiously in the direction he'd just come from, eyebrows furrowed together suspiciously. Finally, after a moment or two, the man slowly turned and continued on, heading for the docks. The pursuer watched as he went, hazel-green eyes locked intently on his retreating back as he wove through the crowd, before following.

Deciding that the window of opportunity was growing smaller and that there would only be so much more time left before the chubby man reached his destination, the sneaky figure sped up and began to close the gap between them. Heart pounding with adrenaline and excitement, the pursuer clenched and unclenched their hand in anticipation with each step that brought them closer to their target.

The chubby man hesitated again and glanced around, clearly still feeling as though he were being watched, but the pursuer didn't stop this time – just as the man started to turn to look behind him again, the pursuer reached him and rammed into his back, knocking him of balance. As the man stumbled in confusion, a slender hand stealthily locked around the coin purse hanging from his waist and yanked it free.

"Oy, watch where you're goin'!" The chubby man growled, his eyes stern and serious as he turned to see who had rammed him. Knowing that the chase was about to be on the pursuer started to make a retreat, but not before shooting a smirk at the man from underneath the bill of their hat and, for added insult, tauntingly dangling the stolen purse for him to see. Realization dawned on the man in a heartbeat – his hand flew to his waist and, upon discovering his coin purse was indeed gone, his eyes immediately hardened with anger. "_Oy!_" He shouted again. "_Get back here_!"

That was the cue to start running. Without a second thought the thief tore off down the street, darting between groups of people with a speed and agility that was rather impressive. The sound of pounding feet and angry shouts behind signaled that the chubby man was indeed chasing after his stolen money, but he was hardly any match for the younger, fitter, and much quicker thief. He was already falling behind, tangled up in the crowd like an insect might be in a spider web.

A curse and a loud crash sounded in the air and it momentarily caught the escaping thief's attention – a look over the shoulder revealed that the chubby man was trying to pull himself out of the wreckage of a small cart he'd just run into while several people fussed all around him. With a laugh of glee, the thief turned a corner and ran faster, knowing with the new obstacle that they would soon lose the chubby man. The thief paused in an alley between two buildings to look in each direction, trying to decide which way to go next, when they spotted a few crates and barrels stacked nearby. Letting their gaze turn upward to see where the stack might lead to, the thief was pleased to see a balcony low enough for them to climb onto – without a second thought the thief ran to the stack, scrambled atop them, then jumped up to grab hold of the balcony railing before hauling themselves upward with a small grunt of exertion.

The thief had just hopped over the railing and landed on the balcony when the chubby man came around the corner. He was red-faced, heaving for air, and looked incredibly irritated as he paused to double-over and catch his breath, but his eyes never stopped searching around for his stolen goods. The thief shrunk further into the shadows of the balcony to avoid being seen.

"_Cornish_!" He suddenly yelled, as though he could sense that the thief in question was still nearby. "I've had enough o' this!"

There was a long pause where he waited for a response, but when none came he finally growled and continued on, stomping loudly and cursing under his breath the entire way. Thinking it humorous to see the man in such a state, the thief decided to follow him a little longer – but should they follow by land or my air? The balcony currently hiding the thief from view was only one in a closely compacted row of five, so the thief decided to remain overhead and merely walked to the opposite railing before stepping over it and silently hopping the foot or so distance to the next one, keeping an eye on the man below all the while.

It went like this for the next half-minute. The chubby man walked down below, searching every nook and cranny for the person that had robbed him, while the thief followed up above, hopping from balcony to balcony with silent ease. Upon reaching the last balcony the thief finally decided that the game had gone on for long enough. So while the chubby man stopped to peer around again, looking as though he were on the verge of admitting defeat, the undetected figure overhead climbed over the railing, slowly shimmied downward until they were hanging from the bottom of the balcony, then dropped to the ground below.

The sound of the thief landing made the man whip around. Almost instantly he scowled with annoyance, the expression actually making him look rather menacing. "Good morning, Mr. Gates." The thief greeted in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. "Actually," the thief continued, frowning at him from underneath the bill of their hat in mock-concern, "you seem like you're having a rather _rough_ morning."

The last words had been said with a hint of teasing and a twinkle of mischief in the thief's eyes. Gates, the quartermaster for the _Walrus_, growled and stepped forward, clearly not finding the situation as entertaining. "Damnit, Cornish, how many times do we have'ta talk about this?" He demanded, sounding beside himself with frustration.

"What?" The thief asked with an innocent shrug. "It was just a bit of fun." Then the thief tilted their head curiously. "How'd ya know it was me, anyway?"

Gates just huffed and snatched the hat off of the thief's head. With the hat now gone, a long, messy, chestnut colored braid fell free, hanging all the way down to the person's elbow – also, with no hat to hide their face behind, it was easy to see that the thief was not a man after all, but, in fact, a seventeen-year-old girl. A seventeen-year-old girl that the quartermaster was _well _acquainted with and not the _least _bit surprised to see in that moment. "It's _always_ you, Lydia." Gates huffed with a scowl. Then he used the hat to point at her with a stern expression on his face. "I've told ya a hundred times an' I'll tell ya again, ya _can't _keep playin' games like this." He lectured, using his other hand to reclaim his coin purse with a rough swipe. "Pirates don't take kindly to thievin' around here and – "

"Relax, Gates," Lydia said reassuringly, patting the man's shoulder, "you worry too much. Besides, I only steal from _you_." She then revealed with a wide smirk. As an unimpressed Gates sent her a flat look, she couldn't help but laugh. "Someone has to keep you on your toes, don't they?"

Gates grumbled under his breath a bit at that. "Your uncle does just fine '_keepin' me on my toes'_, thank you. I don't need you doin' it as well." He told her in a haughty tone. "Speakin' of which," he continued, eyebrows coming together with concern, "Where _is _your uncle?" Gates asked, looking around as though only just realizing that Lydia was without a chaperone. "You know you shouldn't be runnin' about Nassau on your own."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I don't need him to cart me around as though I'm a helpless child. I can handle myself." She retorted, her tone a little on the cocky side as she finally retrieved her hat from Gates' grasp and plopped it back on top of her head, not bothering to tuck her braid in this time around. "Or do you forget I've been surrounded by pirates for the whole of my life?"

"It doesn't matter how long you've been around pirates, Lydia." Gates countered with a stern expression. "You're still a blossoming young lady, and a pretty one at that…these men ain't _blind _to that, despite what you might think." Lydia quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, silently telling him with her eyes that she thought he was talking nonsense. "All I'm _suggesting_," Gates continued in a firm tone when he saw the look she was giving him, "is that you should practice caution and have a chaperone whenever you come into town."

"Your concern is appreciated, Mr. Gates, but it might be a little unnecessary." Lydia pointed out to him. "We both know that there isn't a man on this island who would dare put a hand on me. The whole of Nassau knows who my uncle is and knows that if harm ever befell me, the person responsible would be shown no mercy." Gates heaved and turned his eyes away, but the expression on his face hinted that he knew she had a valid argument. "But," Lydia continued with a sigh, "for the sake of you sleeping better at night, know that I _am_ more careful with my trips to town while the _Walrus _is out to sea." She reassured him.

Gates seemed a bit more relieved when he looked back to her. "Well…that's a _start _at least." He said gruffly. "Just remember, new crews and new pirates come to Nassau every day – and not all of them are as educated about you and your lineage as the rest." Lydia, deciding not to argue with him about it further, finally just nodded her head in understanding. Gates seemed satisfied with her response. "Now, where's Flint?"

Glad that part of the conversation was over with, Lydia waved in the general direction of the place where she'd last seen the man in question. "He was busy haggling with a merchant over some supplies when I saw you in the crowd and decided to have a little fun." She explained, the mental image of her rough, rugged, red-bearded uncle berating a terrified looking merchant fresh in her mind. "I'm sure he'll be waiting at the docks by now."

Gates nodded and then placed a hand on her shoulder. "Well, c'mon then." He said, already leading her back toward the main road. "Not much time to waste."

Despite the rather unceremonious way in which their paths had crossed, Lydia and the quartermaster quickly fell into an easy, amiable conversation as they made their way through the streets of Nassau. Though she loved to torment the man and play tricks on him as often as she could, it was only because Lydia liked Gates very much. She had known the man ever since she and her mother came to live with her uncle in Nassau and not once had he ever been unkind to her. Sure, he may scold her and lecture her whenever she got out of line, but he reprimanded her like a father would his daughter so she couldn't find the harm in that. He might not say it aloud, but Lydia knew Gates only did it because he liked her in return and had her best interest in mind – plus she was fairly certain that her uncle had asked the man to keep an eye on her and keep her in line whenever he wasn't there to do it himself.

As she and Gates walked, Lydia couldn't help but take in the familiar, scenic views that the island provided. Though quite fond of Nassau after living there for some three years now, to be honest, that hadn't exactly been the case at first. She and her mother, Margaret, had moved to the island from their home in Havana after her father, a handsome pirate by the name of Wesley Cornish, died at sea. With her father dead and with no means to support themselves, her mother's brother, Captain James Flint, had come to collect them and move them to Nassau so _he _could take care of them instead – he didn't have a family of his own, so he'd insisted that providing for them was no issue.

Now it wasn't that she hadn't appreciated everything her uncle had done for them or that she wasn't fond of him, because that simply wasn't true – Uncle Flint was her absolute favorite uncle (he was her _only _uncle, but that was beside the point), and if it weren't for him they probably would have wound up begging on the streets. No, Lydia had hated living in Nassau simply because, at the time, she had been a wounded young girl who had not only just lost her father, but also, only weeks later, had to leave behind the only home she'd ever known to travel to some foreign place where she wouldn't know anybody. It had been too much for her to deal with and it resulted in her hating everything about her new living situation in those first few months. She had _not_ been shy about vocalizing that hatred, either, as she had wanted her mother and her uncle to know exactly how she felt about leaving Havana behind.

Yet with a little time, effort, and healing, eventually Lydia accepted that Nassau was her home for the foreseeable future and slowly but steadily grew to love the place. It was a pirate haven by now and the way the town operated was rather unorthodox, but the island itself was beautiful and full of life and character and adventure. Though a small part would always miss her home in Havana and the memories she had of her father there, nowadays she really couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

When she and Gates reached the docks and started making their way toward the _Walrus, _Lydia spotted a familiar figure loitering up ahead. He had been leaning against a post with all the casualness in the world, but when he saw them approaching he immediately straightened up and turned a look on her, quirking a brow and staring her down with hazel-green eyes that were of similar color to her own. It was her uncle, Captain Flint, and while he did seem relieved with her reappearance, he didn't seem surprised to see her with his quartermaster.

"Hullo, Captain." Gates greeted once they were in earshot. "As always, I found your missin' cargo." He added, grabbing Lydia by the scruff of her neck and giving her a little shake.

Lydia swatted his hand away with a glare. "Hello, uncle," she greeted with an innocent tone and sickly-sweet smile. "You'll have to excuse your quartermaster's foul mood. A wee little girl gave him the run-around just now."

Flint's eyes flickered back and forth between Lydia and Gates before a hint of a smirk appeared on his lips. "Gave the man a scare, did you?" He finally asked, amusement appearing in his gaze.

"I think a few bruises as well, both to his body _and _his ego." Lydia confirmed with a smug little smirk that made her look eerily similar to the pirate captain standing before her. As far as physical appearance went, she favored her mother's line more than she did her father's – whenever she and Flint were standing next to each other, the family resemblance was difficult to miss.

"Good girl." He praised, much to the chagrin of Gates. Lydia beamed at her uncle proudly.

Gates seemed disapproving of the fact that Flint was condoning her thievish behavior, but if there was anything he wanted to say to the man about it, he held it inside. Instead, Gates pointedly looked around before glancing up at the sun and then huffing to himself. "Have the new lads turned up yet, Captain?" He asked to change the subject. "I told them to arrive at noon sharp and noon is nearly here."

Flint just shrugged a shoulder and gave a little shake of his head. "I've seen no sign of them yet, but I've only just arrived." He answered, which made Gates heave with impatience.

"New lads?" Lydia echoed, eyebrows raising questioningly. "You've taken on new men? When?"

"Yesterday." Gates answered. "Three of 'em, all new to Nassau an' all lookin' to sail underneath the '_infamous Captain Flint'_." He explained. Lydia turned surprised eyes over to her uncle, who in turn proceeded to merely shrug a humble shoulder. "We thought we'd give 'em a try, see how strong their sea-legs are," Gates continued. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just make sure there's a jollyboat to take us back to the _Walrus_ and see if the new lads have already gone aboard. Shall I wait for you, Captain?"

Flint nodded in confirmation. "I'll be along shortly."

The quartermaster nodded and then started like he was going to leave, but he paused to wag a finger at Lydia. "Remember what we talked about, Cornish." He reminded her in a stern voice. "Practice caution."

While Flint looked back and forth between the two, Lydia nodded her head once. "I will." She assured him. "And the same goes to you. Be safe out there, Mr. Gates – life simply wouldn't be the same if you weren't around for me to torture and torment."

Her sarcastic, yet still oddly sentimental, farewell earned her another pointed look from the quartermaster, but instead of saying anything in return he just continued on and went to the jollyboats that would take him and Flint to the awaiting _Walrus_. Lydia watched him go for a moment then turned a look on her uncle, any traces of amusement immediately leaving her features. "New crew members, then?" She asked, allowing her disappointment to show through clear as day.

Flint let out a long heave, his expression turning more serious. "Lydia, do not look at me that way…"

Lydia couldn't help but frown further, knowing what that tone meant.

After being raised by both her pirate father _and _her pirate uncle, it was no secret by now what her own aspirations were – she too had heard the call of the sea and wanted very much to experience the pirate life for herself. Since her seventeenth birthday earlier that year, Lydia had been begging and pleading with her uncle to let her join his crew, eager to feel the wind in her hair and the spray of the sea against her face. But, unfortunately, he had denied her request time and time again. Flint believed that her father wouldn't have wanted a life of piracy for his only daughter, nor did he think her mother would be very keen on the idea (or too happy with him if he allowed it), as the woman still desperately clung to the hope that Lydia would grow out of this 'phase' of hers and embrace the life of a proper lady. But what was most disheartening of all was that Flint _himself_ had made it known he didn't want his only niece, whom he _'loved like his own daughter'_, turning into a swashbuckling pirate.

No matter how much begging, pleading, and groveling she did, Flint had (thus far) stood firm in his decision not to let her join his crew. That didn't mean Lydia was ready to admit defeat just yet, though – as long as there was air in her lungs, she'd try as hard as she could to earn a place on his crew. Only, there was a problem where the _crew _was concerned as well. The _Walrus _was only so big and her uncle's crew was nearly at capacity by now, even more so with these three new additions Gates had just mentioned. If he took on enough men before she was able to convince him to let her come aboard, she was worried there wouldn't be any room for _her_.

"Uncle Flint, have you given anymore thought to what we spoke of?" She asked in a rush. "I know it's not – " Lydia started to tell him, an all-too-familiar look of pleading appearing on her pretty, sun-tanned face.

"Don't." Flint said, raising a hand up to silence her. Lydia immediately fell silent when she saw the stern, serious look in his eyes. "I have grown tired of this conversation, Lydia, and I will _not _have it again now, not when I am about to leave – I do not like leaving these shores when I am on angry terms with you or your mother."

The warning in his tone was impossible to misinterpret – _Say anything more about it and things are going to get ugly very quickly._ Lydia knew better than to push her luck and just sighed in defeat. Once again, he had won the battle. "Forgive me, uncle." She said in a quiet voice, eyes downcast.

Flint sighed and hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Though he was known to many as a ruthless, cold-blooded pirate prone to fits of violent rage, toward Lydia and her mother he was the exact opposite – he was strict when he needed to be, but, on most days, was nothing short of kind and caring. He was also a man that would probably never admit to having weaknesses, but if he _did _have one then there was no doubt that Lydia was it. Already the sadness in her tone had made the hard expression on his face soften, his similarly-colored eyes displaying a hint of guilt.

"Beloved niece, know that I am only trying to protect you." He said in a low voice so that none passing by would overhear their conversation. "I made a promise the day your father died that you and your mother would remain safe, and that is a promise I intend to keep."

Lydia released a massive sigh and nodded her head. "I know, and I thank you for it. I just…" She trailed off and turned her eyes to the _Walrus_, sure her uncle would be able to see the longing in them. But after a few moments of this, Lydia shook her head and shifted her gaze back to Flint, forcing on a small, half-hearted smile for him. "I should go and let you prepare." She said, deciding to just drop the subject altogether when she couldn't think of anything to say that _wouldn't _make her sound like a selfish cow. "Mother will be wondering where I am."

Flint nodded his head before pointing a calloused finger at her. "Go back to the horse and head straight home – no stops along the way, do you understand?" He sternly instructed. After Lydia nodded and agreed, he pulled off her hat, kissed her hair in a fatherly manner, then gave her a small smile. "Try to stay out of trouble while I'm away, yeah?" He asked. Then he gave her a once over before plucking at the collar of her baggy shirt and quirking a brow at her. "And please, make your mother happy for once and put on a dress instead of wearing _my _clothes, even if only for a day."

Lydia pulled a face. "Do you know what it _feels like _to wear one of those dresses?" She asked incredulously. "It's heavy and hot, the corset makes my ribs feel as though they're going to break at any moment, and my _breasts_ are pushed so high I can practically rest my own chin on them." She explained – the fact that she had so casually referred to her own breasts made Flint fidget uncomfortably, but Lydia ignored his reaction. "It's as uncomfortable as it is humiliating and I refuse to suffer through such unnecessary torture."

"Alright then." Flint said around a clearing of the throat, looking the tiniest bit amused but also still a little awkward. "I tried, did I not?" Then, after patting the top of her head and plopping her hat back into place, he turned and headed for the jollyboat that Gates and a few other men were waiting in. "I'll send word as soon as I return to the island." He called over his shoulder. "Don't give your mother any trouble!"

"I won't!" Lydia called back. "_Not much anyway_…" She added under her breath with a smirk. "Goodbye!" She then called with a wave and a smile. "Have a safe journey!"

Flint just raised a hand to wave goodbye before climbing into the jollyboat.

Once the captain was settled, the boat pushed away from the small dock and started paddling out across the clear blue water, headed for the _Walrus _off in the distance. Lydia raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and took a long look at the ship in the distance, releasing a small sigh of longing.

Uncle Flint might think he'd won since she'd given in today, but this war was far from over. Someday she was _going _to end up on that ship, whether he liked it or not – it was her destiny, that much she was convinced of. Not only had her own father been a pirate, but her uncle was the most feared pirate in this part of the world. Piracy was in her _blood_. She was determined, and when Lydia had her eye on something that she wanted, there was usually no stopping her.

She was going to be on that ship, come hell or high-water.

* * *

Though her uncle had given her stern instructions not to make any stops in town, as Lydia started making her way back to where they had left the horse tied up she couldn't resist popping into the blacksmith's shop to visit with her favorite smithy and peruse the new swords that had been made since her last visit. As she reached the blacksmith's quaint little shop, she could already hear the clanging sounds of metal on metal. With a smile she pushed the front door open and stepped inside the sweltering hot store, a rusted bell overhead jingling to announce her arrival.

The blacksmith was a forty-something man named Cuthbert with very little hair atop his head but an exceedingly thick mustache that covered nearly his entire mouth. He was a large man, tall and with a good amount of muscle after years of working with metal and heavy tools, but he was also a very _kind_ man who never used said muscle against anyone unless in extreme circumstances; Lydia generally referred to him as 'The Gentle Giant'. He was the smithy her uncle had always relied on when it came to his weapons and, over time, he had grown to become a family friend.

The sound of the jingling bell drew Cuthbert's attention and had him pausing, his hammer raised high and poised to strike. When he saw that it was Lydia, a large smile broke out over his face. "Ah, Miss Lydia!" He said, setting down his tools so he could walk around the counter and greet her properly. He smelled of sweat, grease, and metal, but Lydia didn't protest when he pulled her into a quick, slightly-rough, one-armed hug. "What brings ya here today?" He asked when he released her moments later.

"Uncle Flint and his crew are heading out to sea today," Lydia answered with a shrug, "I came along with him to town so I could see him off and then take his horse back home." Then she smiled up at the blacksmith and slapped his arm jovially. "I couldn't very well come to Nassau and _not _visit with my favorite smithy, now could I?"

Cuthbert quirked a suspicious brow at her, but the twinkle in his eye let her know it was all in good fun. "First a surprise visit, now I'm your favorite smithy…" He put on a serious face and stood straighter as he crossed his beefy arms over his chest. "Alright, then, what do you want?"

Lydia laughed and moved past him so she could inspect a rack of shiny swords nearby. "Do you imply that I'm only kind to you when I _want _something?" She asked, running a fingertip over one of the handles before shooting him a look over her shoulder. "You wound me, Cuthbert."

Cuthbert just let out a low chuckle in response. With a smirk, Lydia turned her attention back to the swords in front of her, but it wasn't long before that smirk fell and a sigh of longing escaped her lips.

A sword of her own was something she wanted nearly as badly as a spot on the crew of the _Walrus_, but this was yet _another _thing her uncle had been denying her. Though he had begun training her how to fight whenever he had the time – because '_any young lady living amongst pirates should know how to defend herself' _– Flint did not yet trust her with a sword of her own. He claimed it was only because she was still a novice and could hurt herself, but Lydia suspected it was _really _because he was afraid what might happen if she was running around Nassau with a sharp, pointy sword while he wasn't around to keep an eye on her.

"See one ya like?" Cuthbert casually asked as he came to stand next to her.

Lydia frowned up at him pitifully. "Yes…all of them." She answered with a helpless shrug – honestly, she would have taken the oldest, rustiest, dullest sword in existence so long as she was allowed to call it _her own_. "Doesn't matter, though. Uncle doesn't believe I'm ready to have one yet." Lydia told him unhappily.

Cuthbert made a sound of understanding and nodded his head, reaching one large hand up to rub at his jaw pensively. Lydia eyed him quizzically, practically able to see the wheels turning in his head, and had to wonder what exactly he was thinking so hard about. "Say I was'ta have a present for you…" He said slowly, looking down at her with surprisingly serious eyes. "Would ya be able'ta keep it a secret from your uncle for now?"

Lydia's interest was immediately caught. A secret between her and one of her uncle's acquaintances that was to remain _only _between them? It was practically unheard of, seeing as how Flint's friends were usually the ones ratting her out and spilling her secrets in the first place. "A present?" She echoed, eyebrows inching upward. "What kind of present?"

"Ah, ah…" Cuthbert said with a click of his tongue and shake of his head. "I won't give it to you unless you _promise _not to tell your uncle."

"Yes, of course." Lydia answered impatiently.

"Say the words." The smithy insisted.

It required all of her self-control not to roll her eyes and heave in annoyance. "I promise." She told the man firmly. After he nodded his head, satisfied that she had meant the words, she raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Now what's this present?"

Cuthbert held up a finger, then turned to walk back around the counter and retreat into the back of the shop. Though the man was only gone for barely a minute, that didn't stop an impatient Lydia from pacing the length of the room as she waited for him to return. When the smithy finally came into view again, she noticed that he was holding something in his hands – it was about two and a half feet long, not very wide, and wrapped in a protective cloth. With a gentleness similar to that of a man handling a newborn babe for the first time, he set the present on the counter between himself and Lydia before motioning toward it, silently telling her to unwrap it. Lydia did so very quickly, and as soon as she saw what Cuthbert had just given her, her eyes grew wide.

It was a sword. The blade was only a few feet long and it wasn't very thick, but it was sharp, it was new, and it was _hers _– furthermore, it looked as though it had been specifically _made _just for her_. _And if Cuthbert had been the one to craft it, there was no doubt that the sword was of the highest quality.

"Cuthbert, my friend…" She said in an awe-struck tone, already wrapping her fingers around the leather hilt so she could hold the sword up and inspect it further. It was light but made a satisfying _swishing _sound when she sliced it through the air to test it out. It might not have seemed like much of a weapon to the majority of the men that ran rampant in Nassau, but, all in all, the sword was the perfect size and weight for Lydia and she adored it already.

"What do you think?" Cuthbert asked with a small smile, watching as she swished it around a few more times.

"I love it!" Lydia instantly gushed, turning grateful eyes and a wide smile on the blacksmith. "In fact, I don't think I've ever loved anything more. Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Cuthbert seemed pleased with her zealousness. "Here," he said, grabbing something else that had been wrapped in the cloth and moving around the counter again so he could stand before her. "There's a sheath to go with it as well." He helped her fix the sheath around her hips, then, as she slipped her new sword into its protective sheath, he took a step back and nodded in approval. "You look like a regular Anne Bonny." He said, patting the top of her leather hat.

Lydia smiled at what she deemed a compliment, rather liking the fact that he'd compared her to the female pirate whose name had become well known in the Caribbean in recent months. But then as she remembered how _pricy _weapons like these were, she frowned up at him uncertainly and fiddled with the hilt of her sword. "Cuthbert, the sword is most appreciated…but I fear I'm not entirely comfortable accepting it free of charge." She told him slowly, eyebrows stitching together with concern.

Cuthbert merely waved a dismissive hand in response. "Nonsense. Just consider it _a…birthday_ present." He insisted. "From me to you."

Lydia shot him a look. "My birthday is five months away."

The blacksmith pursed his lips for a moment. "Alright, an _early _present."

Now she quirked an eyebrow. "Cuthbert." She said, tone almost reprimanding. "This gift is too fine _not _to pay you for it."

Cuthbert heaved and rolled his eyes. "The point of a present is that it _is _free for the receiver. Besides," he continued with an amused smirk, "I grow tired of watching you stare at these swords like a hungry child might stare at a loaf of bread. As long as you stick to your word and keep this a secret from your uncle, that and your happiness will be payment enough for me."

The tone of his voice said that he was not to be argued with on the matter. Lydia merely stared at the blacksmith for a second before rounding the counter so she could give the sweaty, smelly man a giant hug. "Thank you, Cuthbert." She said as he patted her on the back, the (accidentally rough) gesture nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. "I shall never forget this."

"You're welcome, Miss Lydia." Cuthbert then slapped her on the back again before pushing her toward the door. "Now, it's off home with you." He instructed. "Your mother will begin to worry if you linger here too much longer."

Lydia nodded and then started for the door. "Of course." She agreed. "Thank you again, dearest Gentle Giant, thank you a thousand times over!"

"You're welcome." He said, inclining his head respectfully. "Have a safe ride back to your home. And do tell your mother I said hello, will you?"

"I will." Lydia assured him. Then, with one last wave, she left the shop and returned to the streets of Nassau.

To say the least, Lydia felt like a woman reborn.

The new weapon hanging from her hip instantly made her feel more powerful and more important, as though she were indeed a seasoned, skilled pirate – just like her father and her uncle – who should be feared by any who crossed her path. With her chin held high and a noticeable bounce in her step, Lydia made her way through town and headed toward where she and Flint had left the horse, but though she was on the island _physically, _her mind was elsewhere. Instead of side-stepping pirates and prostitutes and weaving her way through crowds, Lydia imagined herself sailing the high seas on the _Walrus _and fighting alongside her uncle with her new sword as they took over merchant ships. Her hand itched to grab hold of her sword and swish it around, wanting to live out the fantasies now playing through her mind, but somehow she managed to resist the urge.

So lost in her daydreams was she that Lydia hardly noticed anything going on around her, let alone the fact that she had acquired a tail sometime in the past few minutes and was being followed by a small group of men. When she'd been following Gates earlier she'd hidden the fact that she was female, but now she wasn't trying to hide her identity and it was all too easy to see that she was a young lady walking around Nassau all my herself – it had drawn unwanted attention to an unsuspecting Lydia. As she turned onto a side street that wasn't quite as crowded with people, the men did as well, smirking at each other and leering at the young woman in front of them.

It wasn't until she turned into an alley, intending to take a shortcut through the grassy courtyard between the buildings so her trip to the horse would take less time, that they finally made their presence known.

"'Ello, girly."

The sound of the unfamiliar voice abruptly pulled Lydia from her daydreams and had her whirling around in surprise, only to find herself faced with three dirty, sea-roughened men that she had never seen around Nassau before. With a gulp, Lydia took a look around and realized that they were not only _very_ much alone in the courtyard, but also that nobody on the main street seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. As Gates' words of warning came rushing back to her, Lydia cursed under her breath and took a few steps backward, eyes scanning the area for an escape route – how was it that someone would choose _today _to give her a hard time when her uncle was just out in the harbor preparing his ship for departure and just _barely _out of reach for help? Could her luck really be that rotten?

"Now, now…" One of the men said, taking a step forward each time she tried to put space between them. "Where d'ya think you're goin'?" He asked condescendingly. "Got somewheres 'ta be?"

Lydia paused, eyes surveying the three men as they too came to a halt some six feet in front of her. "Lads, you'd do well to turn around and walk away." She warned, trying to hide her growing apprehension by putting on a brave face and an authoritative voice. "I assure you that if there is any woman in Nassau you should be pestering, I am not she."

"An' why's that?" The third man asked, giving her a skeptical once over. "Ya don't look like ya'd put up much of a fight."

The man's observation had her hand unconsciously moving to rest on the hilt of her new sword. At least, if nothing else, she had something to protect herself with if these men decided to attack…even though she couldn't guarantee she wouldn't end up doing more damage to _herself _than she would to them. Unfortunately the move caught the attention of the first man that had spoken, whose eyes narrowed as his lip curled into a sneer. "I wouldn't do that," he warned, his own hand moving to rest on the hilt of his own sword. "Not unless ya plan 'ta _do _somethin' with that little sword'a yours." He wasn't finished with his threat yet, though – he took a few steps closer, his ugly sneer growing with each step. "An' if ya do, ya best pray I'm _dead_ by the time you've finished, girly."

He didn't need to say anything more for Lydia to understand that she was in quite a predicament, and that predicament was getting more serious by the second. Clearly these men either didn't know who they had cornered or they _did_ and just didn't care, but either way there was a greedy, hungry look in their gazes that had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Everything about the three screamed _DANGER_ and she realized that if she didn't get away – and quickly – that things could go very wrong very fast.

Lydia finally came to the decision that she was going to make a run for it. Surely she was fast enough and good enough at climbing to escape the three pirates unscathed. But just as Lydia turned and took off, causing the three men to shout in anger and immediately move to chase after her, she ran into something very large and very firm and nearly went toppling backwards.

At first she thought she had run into a wall. But as it registered that something was holding her steady by her arms and she remembered that walls didn't _have _hands, Lydia quickly deduced that she had run into a _person_…and as soon as she looked up at him, she really wasn't sure how she'd missed him in the first place. He was very muscular and incredibly tall, probably the tallest person Lydia had ever laid eyes on; he was even taller than _Cuthbert_, and that was no easy feat. He was also, she couldn't help but notice, very handsome. His jawline was strong and covered in a few days' worth of stubble, his lips full and his nose straight, with blue-green eyes that contrasted nicely against his tanned skin and light-colored hair. If she had to guess, Lydia would say he wasn't more than a few years older than herself.

It was only when he didn't release her that fear suddenly shot through her – what if this man was an accomplice to the three behind her? There was no way she'd be able to fight him off, he was too big compared to her! But as his eyes moved away from hers and turned to the men instead, his lips turning downward with a frown and his brows set in a serious, disapproving furrow, her fears immediately dissipated. The stranger released his hold on her so that he could push her behind him, using his tall frame as a shield between her and her would-be attackers.

"Is there a problem here?" He asked in a steady, neutral tone that contradicted the menacing glare in his gaze.

Lydia wasn't sure if he was asking her or if he was asking the men, but since his unblinking gaze never shifted away from the men, she assumed he was talking to them. The three fidgeted under his stern stare, obviously intimidated by his size despite the fact that they outnumbered him – there was just something about the way he carried himself that let everyone, Lydia included, know that he was not afraid of these men, nor was he afraid of a fight. And just judging by his readiness to intervene even though it was not an even match, she could only assume that her savior knew how to handle himself in a skirmish. He would've had to be a fool to challenge three armed men if he _didn't _think he'd emerge victorious.

"Well?" He continued with a quirk of his brow when a long stretch of silence passed and none of the men said anything.

The men seemed to come to a mutual decision that Lydia wasn't worth the trouble and, with a grumble, they turned to slowly make their way back toward the main street. "Ya got lucky, girly." One called back with a scowl. Lydia and her savior watched the men go, neither missing the withering glares the pirates sent their way as they did so, before the trio finally turned onto the street and vanished into the crowd.

With the threat gone, Lydia released the breath she had been holding and rubbed a hand over her face. She then turned her gaze upward as the tall man turned around to face her again, eyebrows raised in silent question. His height was actually a little overwhelming, now that she thought about it. Lydia wasn't short by any means – she stood only a few inches shorter than her uncle and was taller than most of the women she knew – but this man made her feel like a dwarf. The top of her head barely even reached his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" He finally asked, concern evident in his blue-green eyes.

He really _was _a very good looking man – it was hard for Lydia not to stare at him like a fool. Suddenly feeling a little nervous around him (but trying _very _hard not to show it), Lydia quickly nodded her head in answer. "Y-Yes." She confirmed. "Thanks to _you_, anyway." She added, offering a quick, close-lipped smile. "Thank you." Lydia told him sincerely, knowing very well that if he hadn't come along that her day probably would've gotten a lot worse.

The tall man nodded once in response. Lydia felt blood rush to her cheeks when he gave her a quick once over and found herself shifting under his gaze, wishing she knew what the look in his eyes meant. Any moment now it would finally click, she just _knew _it – he would finally realize exactly _who_ he had just saved and then, undoubtedly, would find any excuse he could to leave before one of her uncle's spies saw them together and _'got the wrong idea'_, as was the way these scenarios usually ended. She could thank her uncle for her complete lack of romantic experience. Any man she'd ever dared to show interest in had gone running for the hills out of fear of provoking to wrath of Captain Flint.

But to Lydia's surprise, the moment she was waiting for never came. There was no widening of the eyes, no dawning realization, nothing of the sort. This stranger that had just saved her from the ill-intentions of greedy, disgusting men didn't seem to have any clue that she was Lydia Cornish, the only niece of Captain Flint and _strictly _off limits to any man that wanted to continue breathing. She decided then that he must be new Nassau, which was oddly relieving in a way. The fact that, for once, someone didn't know who she was and wasn't afraid to talk to her or be seen with her was…_refreshing_. That it was a man as attractive as the one in front of her only made it that much better.

"Those men...they friends of yours?" He asked, his tone a bit wry.

"As a matter of fact, no," Lydia answered, "I've never seen them before." She paused to give him a quick once over, noting the weapons he carried. "What's your name?" Lydia asked curiously, filled with the desire to know.

"William." He answered, straightening up some. "But everyone calls me Billy."

Lydia secretly preferred the name William – it sounded strong and masculine and she thought it suited him much better – but she still nodded her understanding. "Well, Billy, you must be new to Nassau – welcome." She told him with a smile and a slight curtsey.

His frown of confusion was immediate. "How did you know?" Lydia just shrugged in answer with a secret little smile, deciding not to tell him exactly how she'd figured it out. "Alright…" Billy said slowly, clearly unsure what to make of her mysterious response. "Well, I've told you my name – are you going to tell me _yours_?" He then asked, eyebrows raising again.

Lydia looked away, pretending as though she had to think about it for a moment, before smirking up at him again. "No, I don't think I will." He might not have heard about her or Flint yet, but there was no doubt that he would soon enough. Lydia did not yet want him to know her name, suddenly wanting to prolong the moment when he finally _did _connect all the dots and figured out who she was.

Billy quirked a brow at her, but in spite of the obvious bemusement on his attractive face, she could now see interest gleaming in his bright-colored eyes. He crossed his long, muscled arms over his chest and shifted on his feet. "And is there a reason for that?" He questioned. If Lydia wasn't mistaken, she thought she spied the start of a smirk on the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," she confirmed with a nod, "several."

"I see…" Billy said, giving her another once over. Then, as though suddenly remembering something, he looked up at the sun sharply before cursing under his breath. Lydia frowned and almost started to ask what the problem was, but he spoke before she had the chance to. "Wish I could stay and chat, but I'm afraid I really must be going. I have somewhere very important to be and I'm now _very _late." Lydia was rather disappointed to hear it, but did her very best not to show it when he frowned at her with that same concerned look from earlier. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Though Lydia wished they could have talked more and thought this meeting had been _far _too short, she nodded her head in reassurance. "My horse isn't far from here. I should be fine."

A contemplative look crossed Billy's features as he looked from Lydia up to the sun, and then back down to Lydia again. "How far?" He asked, not looking as though he trusted she'd be able to reach her destination without just attracting more trouble. She could tell he was thinking about escorting her, despite the fact that he had other duties to see to.

"A five minute walk at the most." Lydia said with a wave of her hand. Then she glanced up at the sun pointedly. "Don't worry about me." She insisted. "Go, before you miss this 'very important' thing you're going to. And," Lydia added with a smirk, "if anyone asks, say you were helping a damsel in distress. Even the men around here are sympathetic to a lady in trouble…_most _of them anyway."

Reminding him of his previous obligations seemed to help him make up his mind. He nodded and then slowly started backing away, eyes trained on her as he started toward the main street. It seemed like there was much on his mind that he wanted to ask about or say to her, but he kept any questions he might have had to himself. He did pause before he could step out of the alley, however, and tilted his head curiously.

"Will our paths cross again?"

Lydia felt her insides jump with excitement, because there was a hint of hopefulness underlying in his tone that suggested he wanted such a thing to happen. But even though Lydia also hoped this wouldn't be their only meeting, since she didn't want to seem _too _eager she just shrugged an aloof shoulder instead. "Perhaps they will," was her noncommittal answer.

A lopsided smile appeared on his face, making him look even more handsome than she already thought him to be. "And if they do…will you tell me your name then?"

She was certain he was flirting with her now and it made her feel a little giddy, but again, she kept her cool and sent a slightly mischievous smile in his direction. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" Then she waved at him with twiddling fingers before turning to head in the opposite direction, able to feel his eyes on her back the entire way. "Goodbye, Billy." Lydia called over her shoulder, shooting one last grin in his direction before turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

* * *

**That's all for now. Thoughts?**

**P.S. A great big THANK YOU to SailorJollyRegina for listening to me rant about this story for the past few days! You're the best!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I'd definitely say that's a good response! Thank you so much to all of you wonderful readers that left a review or alerted/favorited the story! You have no idea how happy it made me to read all your wonderful reviews! You guys are so awesome and because of the great feedback, I'm definitely going to continue on! **

**Note – I changed Lydia's age to seventeen. Because…reasons. **

**Anywho, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Black Sails!**

* * *

_Chapter Two_

The house Lydia lived in with her mother and her uncle was roughly five miles outside of Nassau. It was in an area of the island that was populated by the more permanent, non-pirate affiliated residents of New Providence. Their little 'village' (as Lydia liked to call it) had been there for years, long before pirates and privateers started taking over the island – it had been around ever since the English assumed control of the island back in the sixteen-eighties and somehow managed to survive the territory wars that ensued with the Spanish and French in the decades that followed. The community had been bigger at one point, but nowadays, with the lack of government and surplus of pirates, only a few hundred or so people still remained.

Lydia spent nearly the entire ride home thinking about Billy. There were no silly, romantic daydreams about the two of them riding off into the sunset together or anything of that sort – no, he had merely caught her attention and had ignited a spark of curiosity within. She wondered where he had come from and why he had come to Nassau. Obviously he was a pirate, Lydia had been around enough of them to know one when she saw one, but why choose here? And furthermore, what had led _him _to a life of piracy? There was so much about him that she wanted to know. She decided right then and there that she would find any excuses she could to keep going into town – Lydia was going to make sure that her and Billy's paths crossed again. And there was no better time to do it than now, when her uncle was out to sea and _not _hovering over her like an overprotective barbarian.

When her little village came into sight she directed her uncle's large horse down a trail to the right, circling around the outskirts of the small square. She took this trail for the next half-mile or so until she began seeing houses, then she turned left down a different path and spurned the horse forward. Their home was just around a small bend in the road, tucked off to the side and noticeably separated from the small clustering of houses a half-mile away.

Flint had built the home himself upon first arriving in Nassau, though admittedly it was not often that the pirate captain was around to live in it. At first the home had only had two rooms – a sitting area and Flint's bedroom – but when Lydia and her mother had come to live with him, he and his crew had made quick work of adding onto the house and built extra rooms so they would have more space. Even with the new additions the house still wasn't that big, but it was cozy and it was near the ocean, which meant they had a _spectacular _view. All things considered, Lydia thought the home was actually rather nice.

"Whoa." Lydia commanded gently, pulling on the reigns a bit when they reached the quiet house.

As the horse stamped to a halt, Lydia swung her leg around the back of the saddle and jumped down to the ground. She then grabbed the reigns and led the large, black steed over to the small stables on the side of the house. Once securely tied up, Lydia unsaddled the horse, gave it some food, then patted it on the neck and started for the front door – she had just reached the door when, with a start, she remembered the new sword on her hip. Lydia's hand flew to the weapon and she cursed under her breath, knowing very well that she wouldn't be able to get it by her mother without facing a tidal wave of questions. There was no sneaking it past either – Margaret Cornish (formerly Margaret Flint) had the eyes of a _hawk _and hardly ever missed anything.

After doing a quick sweep of the area for a safe place to stow her weapon, Lydia unstrapped the sheathed sword from around her hips and went to hide it under a large mound of hay by the stables, certain no one would find it there. Once satisfied it was completely hidden, Lydia brushed off any lingering bits of hay from her clothes and then headed into the house.

"_There _you are!" Her mother said the moment she stepped inside. The woman had been sitting by the fireplace fixing a tear in one of Flint's jackets when Lydia arrived, but now she was looking to her daughter with relieved eyes. "I was starting to get worried." She scolded with a slight frown.

Lydia had always thought that her mother was a very beautiful woman. Though she was closer to forty than she was to thirty, the only hints of aging on her face could be found in the thin, barely visible lines in the crinkles of her eyes and the few streaks of grey starting to show in her hair. Margaret Cornish looked very similar to her brother – both had the same sharp, hazel-green eyes, the same reddish hue to their hair, and the same fair skin – but her features were softer and her aura a little less commanding. That didn't mean Lydia's mother wasn't intimidating in her own right, though. She was just as charismatically cunning as Flint and not only knew how to get what she wanted, but wasn't afraid to go after it. This strong-minded determination seemed to be a fairly common (if not dominant) trait in the Flint line, as Lydia had inherited it as well.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, I did not mean to worry you." Lydia apologized, scuffing her boots on the rug lying in front of the entrance so she wouldn't track in dirt. "I stopped to chat with Cuthbert after I saw Uncle Flint off and got a bit…sidetracked." She thought it wiser not to mention the altercation with the three pirates _or _her encounter with the tall, handsome newcomer named Billy. Telling her mother of either would only just upset the woman and more than likely make her do something irrational, like ban Lydia from going into town or something equally devastating.

Margaret seemed to accept Lydia's excuse for her tardiness and nodded her head in understanding. "Well, I am glad you made it home safely." She said, the expression on her face much more relaxed now. Then, as she went back to her stitching, she asked, "How is Cuthbert faring? It's been a long while since I saw him last."

Lydia took off her hat, plopped it on top of the coat-rack, then crossed the room to fetch an apple from the kitchen. "He was well." She answered, inspecting the apples with a critical eye for a moment or two before snatching up the one she thought looked the best. Talking about the smithy made her think about the blade she'd hidden by the stables – it was impossible to stop the happy smile that spread across her face. Lydia was glad her back was facing her mother, otherwise the grin on her face night have roused some suspicion. "Same ol' Cuthbert, really." She added with an offhanded shrug, purposefully keeping her tone neutral.

"We should have him and his wife over for dinner sometime soon. They're always a joy to have around." Lydia made a sound of agreement as she took a large bite of her apple. There was a pause, then, "Speaking of dining with friends," her mother said with a clearing of her throat, making Lydia turn to shoot her a curious look, "I went to the square earlier this morning to peruse the shops and just so happened to bump into Mr. Hampstead…" Margaret explained slowly, the expression on her face just a little _too _casual.

Lydia's eyebrows furrowed together uncertainly. "Mr. Hampstead?" She could recall the man in question because she'd seen him several times, but she didn't actually _know_ him. All she knew about John Hampstead was that he lived down the road a ways, that he owned a small store in the square that sold general goods (mostly to people too afraid to venture into Nassau for supplies), and that he was a friend of her mother's. "And?" Lydia prompted, wanting her mother to continue.

"And, well, we got to talking and I discovered that his nephew has just arrived from the mainland," Margaret explained, a familiar, conspiratorial gleam suddenly alight in her eyes. The look made a warning flag raise in Lydia's mind – she'd seen that look plenty of times before. Her mother was most assuredly up to something. "He's a young lad, a few years older than you, Lydie, but Mr. Hampstead said he's a very _kind _fellow and that he's _very _well off. Apparently he's been working for a banker in Boston."

Without saying a word, Lydia calmly set down her apple and then crossed her arms over her chest, one eyebrow slowly inching upward. She had figured out _exactly_ where this conversation was going. And she was absolutely _not _in the mood for it, not when the day was actually turning out to be decent. "Mother, am I to understand that you are, once again, attempting to find me a husband even though I have asked you _repeatedly _not to?" Lydia asked bluntly.

Apparently Margaret did _not _like the attitude behind Lydia's words, because she set down the jacket she had been stitching and frowned at her in disapproval. "Do not take that tone of voice with _me_, young lady, I am your _mother _and it is not only my right, but my _duty as a parent _to do whatever I can to make sure your future is a promising one." She immediately chastised, each scolding word steadily chipping away at Lydia's patience. "I am not telling you to _marry _him, I am merely telling you to _meet _him. You are seventeen years old, Lydia – the time to start looking for a husband is _now _if you want to marry before you become an old maid."

Lydia couldn't help but grind her teeth in her growing frustration. For months now the woman had been, in no subtle way, trying to force Lydia into finding a man to marry, claiming that she was a woman now and that she would soon be expected to become someone's _wife_. Lydia, however, had no desire to marry at the present moment and had been fighting Margaret every step of the way. Where they had once gotten along very well, the constant struggle was beginning to put a strain on their mother-daughter relationship. The more Lydia resisted the harder Margaret pushed, but the more her mother tried to force her into doing something she wasn't ready for, the more rebellious Lydia became. It was a vicious cycle that seemed as though it would never end.

"And what if I do not want a husband?" Lydia asked mockingly. "What of that?" It wasn't true, of course, because the adventure of falling in love was something she _did _want to experience, and she _would _be willing to marry if the right man came along. But the bottom line was that if Lydia married, she wanted it to be on _her _terms. Not her mother's. "Perhaps the life of an _old maid _is what I strive for." Lydia added with a humorless smile.

Margaret narrowed her eyes and sent her a very disapproving look. "Don't behave like a petulant child, Lydia, because you _aren't _one." She scolded. "Now Mr. Hampstead has invited us to dinner tonight and you _will _accompany me, even if I must drag you there kicking and screaming." Lydia opened her mouth to say that she would do no such thing, but Margaret held up a hand to silence her. "_And_," she continued firmly, "you _will _be on your absolute _best _behavior in front of Joffrey, _or else_."

The sensible part of her brain knew better than to continue to smart-mouth her mother, but the sensible part of her brain, unfortunately, seemed to have disappeared for the moment. Instead, her mother's open-ended threat struck a chord in Lydia's rebellious streak and had her raising her eyebrows, her expression thoroughly unfrightened. "Or else _what_?" She asked, knowing there really wasn't much that her mother could threaten her with.

The rebuttal no doubt had Margaret seething on the inside, but she skillfully managed to hold the anger in. Very, very calmly, she stood from her chair and came to stand in front of Lydia, the stern expression on her face making her look very much like Flint in that moment. "Do not test me, Lydia." Margaret warned. "You are my only daughter – my only _child _– and I love you unconditionally…but know that if you do not learn to be more cooperative, I will have no other choice but to resort to drastic measures."

Lydia's eyebrows immediately furrowed. She wasn't really sure what exactly her mother meant by that threat, but there was a very daunting implication in the tone of her voice that didn't sit very well with her. Lydia immediately understood that she was nearing dangerous territory and that she probably should have stopped arguing a long time ago, so she wisely kept her mouth shut now, using all of the self-control she had to hold back the biting words lingering on the tip of her tongue, just _begging _to break free.

Margaret was still angry so she didn't exactly seem pleased that Lydia didn't argue with her further, but the hard expression on her face did lessen some. She smoothed her hands over her skirt as though the move would calm her anger, before jutting her chin into the air. "We are expected at Mr. Hampstead's an hour before sundown," Margaret informed her in a stiff tone. "I will go draw you a bath. I won't have you infested with dirt and smelling of horse when you meet Joffrey." She added, eyeing Lydia's attire with distaste.

And with that, Margaret brushed past her and went to start preparing a bath for Lydia.

Even after her mother was gone, Lydia remained rooted to the spot, frowning unhappily to herself. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she took a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose before dropping her hand from her face. Seeing no way of getting out of this impending dinner without starting a war with her mother, Lydia admitted defeat to a Flint for the second time that day and headed for her bedroom to change out of her dirty clothes.

Sometimes she truly did not understand her mother. Constantly the woman was trying to push Lydia into being a proper lady, constantly she was reiterating how important it was the Lydia marry a decent, respectable man, yet Margaret herself had been the one to throw away her _'proper life'_ and _'promising future'_ in England so she could run away with Lydia's father and sail off into the sunset, never to look back. Why, when Margaret herself had shunned that sort of prim-and-proper, straight-laced life when it had been forced upon _her_, was she now turning around years later and attempting to force it upon Lydia? It not only seemed wildly hypocritical, but it also made absolutely no sense.

Lydia's increasingly foul mood only worsened when she stepped into her bedroom and her eyes immediately landed on the dress that Margaret had laid out on her bed. It was pale blue, low cut, and just looking at the corset top was already making her ribs ache with dread. Clearly this was what her mother expected her to wear for the impending dinner at Mr. Hampstead's.

Lydia wasn't sure why, but suddenly she felt like she was about to be dressing for her funeral.

* * *

Several hours later, after being brushed, scrubbed, and coiffed within an inch of her life, a very pretty-looking (but also _extremely_ uncomfortable) Lydia found herself seated at the dining table in the relatively large house of Mr. John Hampstead. The corset she wore was inhumanely tight, her hair had been detangled and pinned up in a neat style, and she was genuinely afraid that her breasts would topple out of her dress if she breathed too deeply. In short, she felt like a doll that a little girl had decided to dress up and make-over and yearned desperately for the tunic and trousers awaiting her back home.

To Lydia's left, seated at the head of the table, was their host, Mr. Hampstead himself. He was in his mid-thirties, was a little bit rounded in his middle region, and wore a grey colored wig atop his head that made Lydia fight back a smirk of amusement each time she looked at it. He was a good story teller though and had managed to keep the dinner at least _somewhat _interesting thus far. To her right sat her mother, hair up in a neat style and wearing her best dress. It was clear by now that the woman had taken it upon herself to make sure the impression they left on their hosts was a good one – she was in rare form tonight, lying the Flint Charm on very thick as she buttered up Mr. Hampstead. Lydia, who knew exactly why Margaret was going out of her way to make this night go as smoothly as possible, nearly wanted to roll her eyes when the woman let out a laugh that was so obviously fake it was almost embarrassing. She obediently kept her mouth shut, however, and continued to just '_sit there and look pretty' _while her mother did all the talking.

Lydia took another small bite of food, silently listening on as her mother and Mr. Hampstead talked, and chanced a glance at the young man sitting across from her – Joffrey, her would-be suitor. He was a few years older than herself, had dark hair and dark eyes, and was of average height and build. He wasn't necessarily _bad _looking, but when compared to a man like, say, _Billy_…well, Joffrey wasn't much to boast about. Lydia wasn't entirely certain when she had even started comparing Joffrey to her handsome rescuer or _why_ – she had only just met Billy, after all – but the more she did it, the less Joffrey seemed up to par. The fact that his eyes seemed far more interested in what was _below _her neck rather than _above _it wasn't helping his case either – each time he not-so-secretly ogled her cleavage, it became harder and harder not to say something about it.

Joffrey must have felt her gaze on him, because he turned his eyes away from his uncle to glance at Lydia. She looked down at her plate very quickly when their eyes met, but she didn't miss the little smirk that appeared on his lips when he realized he'd caught her staring at him. She immediately flushed, his smug misinterpretation of her actions making her feel a little heated with annoyance.

"So, Miss Lydia…" The sound of her name had her looking at Mr. Hampstead in surprise – it was the first time he'd specifically addressed her. He paused to take a drink of wine before furrowing his eyebrows curiously. "I see your mother around quite often but I hardly ever see you." He commented. "Tell me, what is that you do to keep so busy?"

Lydia opened her mouth the answer, but her mother beat her to the punch. "Lydia studies three days out of the week with a tutor and has piano lessons on Wednesdays," she answered without missing a beat, the smile on her face cool and collected and oozing confidence. "But when she isn't busy honing her skills, she's usually looking after the house and the garden with me." She added before taking a sip of wine.

It was a good answer to Mr. Hampstead, but to Lydia, who did _far _more than that with her life, it wasn't satisfactory. And knowing that Margaret had purposefully left out details because she was trying to present Lydia in the best light possible – even if it was a _false _light – only annoyed her further. She decided it was high time to contribute to the conversation, whether her mother liked it or not.

"That's not all, though, Mr. Hampstead," Lydia said, turning a sweet, innocent smile on the man. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother stiffen. "As you probably well know, my uncle is often away for…_business_," she explained gently, "so it is often left to me to carry out his chores around the house – I tend to the horse, make repairs to the house, things of that sort. And," Lydia continued, "when necessary, I go to town to run his errands in his stead. It is not uncommon for me to travel into Nassau."

Mr. Hampstead's eyebrows raised a tick in his stunned silence. Everyone around these parts knew that Flint was a pirate – they'd have to be daft not to – but as long as he kept quiet everyone just turned a blind eye to him. So it wasn't the mention of her uncle that had surprised Mr. Hampstead, oh no. It was the fact that Lydia admitted to carrying out a man's chores and willingly placed herself amongst pirates that seemed to have caught him off guard. "Do you mean to say that you go into Nassau _alone_?"

Lydia nodded, her expression stating that she found nothing odd with that. "Quite often." She told him. Joffrey looked rather surprised by this point while her mother was starting to let out small, sporadic sounds of warning, but Lydia ignored them both as she shrugged at Mr. Hampstead nonchalantly. "The pirates that live there really aren't so bad, once you get to know them." Then, just to add fuel to the fire, Lydia said, "But do not worry for my safety, Mr. Hampstead. My uncle has begun training in me in the art of sword fighting, so I – "

"Joffrey." Margaret suddenly interjected quite sharply – her expression might have given off the impression that she wasn't effected by Lydia's words, but the anger lurking in her gaze told a different story. "Your uncle tells me you've been working at a bank?" She asked, very quickly changing the subject before Lydia could elaborate any further.

Joffrey tore his wide-eyed gaze away from Lydia to blink confusedly at her mother. "Er, yes. Yes, I have." He answered a bit uncertainly, still looking back and forth between Lydia and her mother. As he finally turned his full attention to Margaret and proceeded to tell her what he did at the bank, Lydia brought her cup up to her lips for a drink to hide the self-satisfied smile trying to break free.

The rest of dinner went by fairly smoothly after that, but that was mostly because Margaret kept Joffrey and Mr. Hampstead talking nearly the entire time – clearly this was a diversionary tactic to ensure that Lydia couldn't get a word in edge-wise, which, in turn, meant she had no other chances to sabotage the night. Lydia couldn't decide whether to be impressed or annoyed with how astute the woman was.

Sometime later, after dinner had been finished and as the sun began to set, Mr. Hampstead suggested that Joffrey show Lydia the garden behind the house while he and Margaret retired to the sitting room to indulge themselves a few drinks. Though Lydia didn't want to go _anywhere _with Joffrey – especially if they were going to be alone – the look her mother gave her clearly said she had better go along with it. In the end, Lydia had no choice but to obey and allowed Joffrey to escort her to the back garden.

As it turned out, getting outside in the fresh air was actually nice and the garden was indeed quite beautiful, what with its many colorful flowers and ocean-front view. But Lydia found that the biggest relief of all came from the fact that she was just _standing up_ – sitting down whilst wearing a corset made breathing particularly hard and Lydia had been feeling like she might faint from lack of air for the past half hour. She breathed as big of a sigh of relief as her dress would allow, just happy to be out of Mr. Hampstead's house for a moment.

So relieved was she that she almost forgot about Joffrey. When he appeared by her side and she remembered that he was supposed to be showing her around, whatever momentary relief Lydia had been feeling instantly vanished – she didn't voice her displeasure, however, just sucked up her pride and allowed him to start leading her around. She would have much rather taken in the sights alone, _not _with some smug, haughty young banker (or whatever he had said he did for a living) that seemed far more interested in her _breasts _than he did in whatever she had to say, but if a stroll through the garden with Joffrey got her mother off her back for a while...so be it.

As Joffrey started to show her the garden, pointing out things here or there just to try to start some form of small talk, she only listened on with half-hearted interest. Instead she focused more on the view that the garden provided and stared wistfully into the horizon, watching as the sun slowly tucked itself away for the night and admiring the way the warm colors played on the waves of the ocean. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that Joffrey was still going on about himself, but she tried to tune him out as best she could. This turned out to be an impossible feat - Joffrey, it seemed, very much liked the sound of his own voice.

Lydia finally turned her attention to Joffrey, deciding that if he was going to blabber on that she might as well listen…but when she focused on him and realized that his eyes were, once again, on her breasts, the annoyance she'd felt earlier returned with a vengeance and she immediately glared at him with unimpressed eyes. Abruptly deciding that she didn't like Joffrey very much – or even _at all_ – Lydia took advantage of the fact that they were alone and finally said what she'd been holding back all evening long.

"If you're looking for my eyes, Joffrey, you'll find them _above _my neck." She informed him coolly, not caring that she had interrupted him while he was talking.

When he said nothing, merely stared at her in surprised silence, Lydia rolled her eyes and turned to stomp off in the opposite direction, starting back in the direction of the house. She'd place nice for long enough, now it was time to return to their _own _home. Unfortunately, she hadn't made it very far before Joffrey overcame his surprise and hurried to catch up to her, that stupid little arrogant smirk playing on his lips again. "You're very pretty you know." He complimented as he fell into step with her, clearly not deterred by her aggressive demeanor. "The girls back home do not look like you."

Lydia, who really didn't see how she could be much different than a girl from the mainland, ignored him and continued walking through the garden, now wondering how much trouble she would get into if she were to just go home right now without telling anyone and whether or not it would be worth it to face her mother's wrath. When it became clear she wasn't going to respond, Joffrey spoke again. "Is what you said in there true?" He asked, hurrying his pace so he could plant himself directly in her path. Lydia tried not to growl with irritation when she was forced to come to a halt to avoid running into him. "Do you really do all that or were you just lying?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes at the young man in front of her, her annoyance spiking at his question. "And what reason, pray tell, would I have to lie?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

Again, that smug little smirk spread across Joffrey's face. Lydia's palm itched to slap it off. "Why, to try to make yourself look tougher than you actually _are_, of course." He pointed out, sounding very confident in his answer. "You do not have to resort to such measures if you are trying to impress me, Miss Lydia." He added cockily, eyes searching the length of her form again with obvious appreciation. "You're well on your way to winning me over, I assure you."

Lydia decided right then that Mr. Hampstead was wildly misinformed about his own nephew. Joffrey might be nice and polite when he was around his family, but alone he was nothing short of an arrogant, pig-headed twat. She didn't know _who _Joffrey thought he was, but she was very quickly losing whatever semblance of patience with him that she had left. "You flatter yourself _far _too much, _Joffrey, _for I could care less whether or not I _impress you_."

Lydia's tone was full of loathing and the daggers her eyes were shooting would have sent any sensible man running the opposite direction, but Joffrey didn't seem to understand that he was pushing his boundaries where she was concerned. He just grinned wider and took a step toward her, which made every muscle in her body immediately go rigid. "I've heard quite a bit about you island girls." He said, ignoring her biting remarks. "The gossip is that island women have been away from civilization for so long that they are _much_ less…inhibited. They're not held back by rules and boundaries." He said slowly, his words immediately offending her. When he slowly started to reach a hand in her direction, Lydia eyed it as though it were a snake about to bite her. "And morals, I've heard, are practically non – AH!"

Whatever Joffrey had been saying was cut short, because his wandering fingertips had just come into contact with the skin of Lydia's neck and the moment she felt him touch her, she spurned into action. Lydia grabbed his wrist in the blink of an eye and then roughly twisted it in a direction it was not supposed to go. The defensive technique – which she had learned from one of Uncle Flint's crewmen – immediately incapacitated Joffrey and had him bending awkwardly with her twist in an attempt to lessen the painful pressure.

"I _beg your pardon_?" She asked, unable to believe the audacity of this little twerp. "I do not care _what _you have heard about us '_island girls'_, but you'll do well to keep your bloody hands to yourself." She warned in a low voice. Then, as Joffrey stared up at her with fright, she leaned closer so she could peer directly into his wide eyes. "If you ever try to touch me again, I'll break all your grubby little fingers. Perhaps _that_ will teach you to respect a woman, civilized or not."

Lydia released him after that and Joffrey immediately cradled his wrist with his free hand, his wary gaze never once turned away from her. He seemed to have learned his lesson, though, because he didn't say anything more or dare reach out for her again. With a smirk of satisfaction, Lydia turned on her heel and headed back toward Mr. Hampstead's house to suggest to her mother that they leave before Joffrey had the chance to come crying to his uncle. Lydia also made a mental note to herself to tell Flint about this moment whenever he returned, sure he would be proud to hear that she had defended herself so successfully against a man that was being inappropriate toward her.

She just hoped for Joffrey's sake that he wasn't still around when Flint _did _find out, otherwise a sprained wrist was going to be the least of his worries.

* * *

Upon first leaving Mr. Hampstead's house, Margaret was irritated with Lydia. Convinced that her daughter had done something else to try to purposefully ruin any possible love-match between herself and Joffrey, Margaret first proceeded to lecture Lydia for half of the walk home, pointing out everything about her attitude throughout the evening that had been wrong before then demanding to know what she had done to Joffrey in the garden. When Lydia, who had listened to her mother rant in silence, calmly informed her of the things Joffrey had said to her, her mother's tune changed drastically - now offended _for _Lydia, the woman's response was to huff and say, "Well, I didn't think he was good enough for you _anyway", _before spending the rest of the walk home listing off everything she hadn't liked about Joffrey. That was a conversation Lydia was happy to join in on and, for the first time that day, the two finally saw eye-to-eye on something.

It was a clear night that night, so after Margaret retired for the evening Lydia decided to climb atop the roof and stargaze for a little while. With her hair now down and free from its fancy style and wearing an old pair of Uncle Flint's trousers and one of his shirts – both of which were rather baggy on her – she went outside and took the easy way up, climbing up the ladder her uncle had place at the back wall of the house. Lydia stood atop the roof for a moment and gazed at the dark ocean before her, appreciating the way the moon overhead bounced off the rippling waves stretching endlessly into the distance. Then, with a contented sigh, she laid down on top of the roof and got comfortable.

This was one of her favorite things to do, just lay atop the roof of a house on a clear, cloudless night and stare up at the millions of twinkling stars while the rhythmic crash of ocean waves invaded her ears. Staring at the vast sky and seeing all of those stars always made her feel small, but it also reminded her that there was so much more to the world than just what she experienced in day to day life. The knowledge that there was still so much to be found and explored only fueled her burning desire to break free of the chains her mother was trying to put on her and seize the adventure for herself. If she tried hard enough now, she could almost trick herself into thinking that she wasn't on the roof of her house but rather on the _Walrus_, staring up at the sky from the decks of her uncle's ship and listening to the gentle waves lap at the sides of the ship…

But she _wasn't _on the _Walrus_. Lydia was on the roof of her house in New Providence while her uncle's ship travelled further and further out to sea. With a sigh of longing, she decided not to think about it for now because the knowing that she had, once again, been left behind would only make her depressed.

Her thoughts turned back to Billy instead and, with a small smile, she replayed their first meeting in her head – she remembered the fierceness of his gaze as he stared down her attackers, remembered how large and intimidating he had looked as he shielded her from view. The whole thing had been rather heroic, now that Lydia thought about it. She then remembered the concern is his pretty eyes when he'd thought she might be hurt and the flirty smirks he'd shot her way before they parted. He was, no questions asked, one of the most handsome men she'd seen in a very long while, maybe even _ever_. She hardly even knew him, but already Billy had left a lasting impression on her – but had Lydia left an impression on him in return? Was he sitting somewhere right now staring up at this same night sky and thinking about her, too?

Lydia hoped so. And as she let her eyes drift upward to gaze at the full moon illuminating the night sky, Billy's handsome face floating about in her thoughts, she smiled to herself.

She didn't know when she'd see Billy again, but she certainly hoped it would be soon.

* * *

Somewhere out in the seas of the Caribbean, a very tired, a very sore, but also very accomplished-feeling Billy Bones was finally getting a chance to sit down for what felt like the first time that day. With a heave, he dropped his aching body down onto a crate and stretched out his long legs, leaning back a bit to rest his back against the side of the ship. As Billy took a long sip from his bottle of rum, his eyes turned up to the full moon overhead – out here on the ocean it looked brighter than usual and gave everything around him a pearly-white glow. It actually made for a rather picturesque view.

His first day on the _Walrus _had, quite expectedly, been a hard one. The work pace as a deckhand was fast, constant, and brutal, as there was _always _something on the deck that needed to be tended to. And he, being one of the newer crew members, was expected to do every last little bit of grunt work as a means of 'proving himself'. The work wasn't easy, but Billy had already gone into it knowing that and done what was asked of him without complaint. If he wasn't mistaken, he thought he'd seen the quartermaster, Gates, watching him once or twice with approval on his face – he hoped it meant he'd made a good impression on his first day, despite the fact that he had nearly missed the voyage altogether.

Remembering his frantic scramble to make it to the _Walrus _before it sailed off without him immediately had Billy's thoughts shifting to the girl in Nassau. And, at once, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He didn't know who she was, nor did he even know her name, but already she was stuck in his mind.

It had been by chance that Billy had met her at all, really. He'd just come from the store, having bought a few last minute supplies for the trip with what little money he had left, when he happened by a most interesting scene – three men had cornered someone in the alleyway and looked like they were up to no good. At first, judging by attire, Billy had thought the poor bastard they'd cornered was just some young boy that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But when he stepped closer, wondering whether he should intervene or just mind his own business, and heard the boy speak for the first time, he quickly realized that _boy _was actually a _woman_. There had been no doubt in his mind then – there was no chance in hell he'd leave a defenseless young lady to deal with three lecherous pirates on her own.

Billy took another drink of rum, recalling the pretty face of the nameless woman in his mind's eye. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen, but there was absolutely no denying that she was a beauty. In fact, it had floored him a bit when she'd - quite literally - run into him and he'd seen her face for the very first time. Seeing her pretty, feminine features and bright, hazel-green eyes up close had actually made him forget what he was doing for a moment and he'd only been able to stand there with steadying hands on her arms, staring at her like some stunned fool. Billy hadn't even remembered the situation at hand again until he saw fear in her eyes and realized _he_ was scaring her as much as the men that had cornered her were. Thankfully that fear was gone once she figured out that he didn't mean her harm.

He thought about their brief conversation and frowned to himself. Billy only wished now that she had told him her name, then maybe he could have asked around and found out more about her. She was a mystery to him, a mystery that was as intriguing as it was fascinating and one that he was eager to learn more about.

"Nice night."

The gruff voice interrupted Billy's thoughts and pulled him back to the present. When he looked up, Gates was standing nearby with his nose in the air, breathing in the salt air with an expression of contentedness. He'd met the quartermaster only a day ago, but already he liked and respected the man - he seemed smart and level-headed, and it was because of _him _that Billy was even aboard the _Walrus _right now. "Indeed." Billy agreed, helping himself to another drink. Then he held it out to Gates in offering.

"Ah," Gates said, eyes lighting up as he accepted the bottle, "don't mind if I do."

While Gates took a few large gulps, Billy took the moment to tear off a bit of his shirt and start wrapping it around his left hand like a bandage – there were several blisters forming on his palms after a day of working on the deck, as well as some painful looking rope-burn. He knew his hands would be killing him come morning and already he cringed at the thought of the pain he'd surely suffer through when it came time to start working again.

Gates smacked his lips in approval as he swallowed his rum and then came to sit on the crate next to Billy's. "How're the hands?"

Billy just nodded his head as he finished wrapping his hand. "Fine." He reassured Gates. "Trust me, they've looked worse."

With a small grin, Gates handed the bottle back over and said, "You did well today, Billy."

Pleased to hear the man's approval, Billy respectfully inclined his head to the quartermaster. "Thank you, sir."

Gates nodded. "You're welcome." He said in return. "It isn't easy takin' on new lads, you know. You can never tell which ones will have it in 'em an' which ones won't." Gates proceeded to explain as he too stretched out his legs and got comfortable. Billy took a drink of rum as he listened to the man talk. "Lots'a lads don't realize how tough the work really is – guess they think it's all fightin' an' boozin' an' whorin'."

Billy had to crack a smirk, because as far as most pirates were concerned, that _was _what their life was all about. "Isn't it, though?" He asked in amusement.

Gates thought about it for a moment before shrugging a shoulder. "Not _all _the time…" Billy chuckled a bit as he passed the rum back over to the quartermaster. "Anyway," Gates continued after he took a drink, "with all that bein' said, I never had any doubts about you. You worked your bollocks off today without a single complaint an' I can tell that you're smart, probably smarter than half the people on this ship. So far, you're shapin' up to be a damn good pirate." Billy raised his eyebrows in surprise, rather taken aback by the unexpected praise. "I think we did good takin' you on, Bones. As long as you can learn to be on time from here on out," Gates said this quite pointedly, "I see a world of promise in your future."

Billy had the decency to look shame-faced. He'd known someone would berate him for his tardiness sooner or later, so the knowing look on Gates' face wasn't entirely unexpected. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "I _would _have been on time, but I…got caught up in something."

Gates quirked an eyebrow. "Somethin' _more_ important than bein' on time your first day on the job?"

Billy pursed his lips, trying to think of the correct response, until he suddenly heard her voice in his head – _If anyone asks, tell them you were helping a damsel in distress. Even the men around here are sympathetic to a woman in trouble. _Deciding to go for it and go with the truth, Billy shrugged a helpless shoulder. "There was a young lady in trouble, sir. Got cornered by three men. I couldn't just leave her to fend for herself."

Gates stared at him for a moment, as though trying to decide whether he was lying or not. "A young lady in trouble, huh?" He asked neutrally. When Billy nodded his head in confirmation, Gates just shook his head with a sardonic smile. "Well…I guess I can't fault ya for _that_. Can't say I'd be able to walk past somethin' like that, either." He begrudgingly admitted, a faraway look entering his gaze for a moment. Billy relaxed when he realized he was no longer in the dog house, then quirked a brow at Gates when the man suddenly smirked over at him and wagged his eyebrows. "So…she good lookin'?"

As the nameless woman's face appeared in his mind again, Billy had to shake his head in wonderment. "_Beautiful_." He confirmed to Gates.

"Beautiful, aye?" The quartermaster repeated with surprised eyes. Then Gates let out a hearty laugh and slapped Billy on the back. "Two days in Nassau an' some woman's got ya wrapped around her finger already?" He asked, clearly amused with this. Billy started to defend himself and tell the quartermaster that wasn't the case, not wanting the man to think him soft, but Gates cut him off before he got the chance. "What's her name, then? Maybe I know her." The man prompted eagerly.

This question made Billy frown with disappointment. "That I don't know. She wouldn't tell me her name. She was being…secretive, to say the least." He explained. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think she doesn't _want _me to know who she is."

Gates' expression went pensive as he thought this over before he just shrugged and smirked. "Methinks she's just tryin'ta make ya _work_ for it, lad." He said with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Billy considered the possibility that Gates was right and had to smirk to himself. A little chase didn't sound so horrible, especially if it was the beautiful girl from Nassau that he was pursuing.

Gates seemed to sense that Billy was preoccupied with his own thoughts now, because after taking one last swig of rum he stood from his crate and then handed the bottle over to Billy. "I've got work to do, so I'll leave ya to your thoughts about your lady," he said, slapping him across the shoulder.

The quartermaster started to walk away, but then paused when he seemed to remember something else. "Oh, and while we're on the topic of young ladies, I'll tell you this now," Gates said, making Billy's eyebrows furrow with confusion. "The captain has a niece that lives on the island," he proceeded to explain. "She's about your age, maybe a bit younger, and she's also quite _pretty_. She comes around the ship often, so I guarantee that you _will _see her at one point or another." He paused to frown at him sternly. "The reason I'm telling you this is because I expect you'll be around for a while. And since we need a strapping young lad like you on the crew, I want to _warn _you before you have the chance to fuck anything up." He paused again for dramatic effect. "Captain Flint _loves _his niece. As far as he is concerned, that girl is his _daughter_. Do not doubt the truth of my words when I say that he would do anything – _anything_ – to protect her."

Billy silently nodded to let Gates know he understood what he was hearing, feeling as though he knew where this conversation was going already. "Plain and simple, that girl is _strictly _off limits, especially to the crew." Gates continued, his tone full of warning. "And if you ever decide to cross that line, know that the punishment will be severe. And _that's_ just puttin' it lightly."

Billy let that threat sink in for a moment before clearing his throat and nodding his head. "Understood." He said, his tone holding a note of wariness. Gates nodded and started to walk away, but paused when Billy called out to him. "What's her name? And how will I know who she is?" He asked curiously.

Gates just snorted before knowingly raising his eyebrows. "Her name is Lydia. And don't worry, _you'll know."_ He said matter-of-factly._ "_She's just like Flint and trouble follows her everywhere she goes. She's rather hard to miss." He informed him in a dry tone.

His description of the girl made Billy smirk, because it immediately made him think of the beautiful girl back in Nassau, whom he'd only met because she too had been found by trouble. _Sounds like someone else I know_, he mused to himself. But instead of saying that to Gates, he merely nodded his head in understanding. "I'll consider myself warned, then."

"Good." Gates said in approval. "Keep up the good work, Bones."

And then the man was gone, leaving Billy alone with his rum and his thoughts.

With a long sigh, Billy took a drink and let his eyes drift back up to the moon. As the ship rocked steadily with the waves of the ocean and the sounds of the water moving about the boat filled his ears, he felt his tense body finally start to relax. Already he had pushed thoughts of the captain's niece and Gates' words of warning to the back of his mind – instead he thought about the girl from Nassau again, cursing his rotten luck that they had met on the day that he went to sea. He loved being out on the water, loved working on a ship and feeling _useful_, but just this once, he couldn't wait to get back to dry land. Because as soon as they returned to Nassau, he was going to find the beautiful, mystery girl that he'd rescued. And this time, he wouldn't let her get away from him so quickly.

* * *

******Thoughts?!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I seriously freaking love all of you. I just ****_knew _****I couldn't be the only Billy Bones lover out there! A great big thank you to those who have alerted/favorited the story, and especially to those who take the time to review! I couldn't be happier with the response this story has gotten! **

**Now a little warning – I am not French. I do not speak French, I have ****_never _****spoken French, and it is unlikely that I ever ****_will _****speak French. So when creating the French character you're about to meet in this chapter, I relied heavily on Google Translator. I know, I'm ashamed of myself too. So I want to apologize to any French readers/people who actually know what they're doing when it comes to the French language. If my lame attempt to add in bits of French offends you (which I'm sure it will), I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Seriously though, do you think I'd be here if I had anything to do with Black Sails?**

* * *

_Chapter Three_

Fifteen days.

It had been fifteen long, incredibly disappointing days since that fateful first encounter with the handsome young pirate named Billy. And though Lydia had managed to find a reason to venture into Nassau on _five_ separate occasions in those fifteen days, hoping beyond hope each time that she would spot his tall frame towering over the crowd, their paths had yet to cross again. She had searched for him – had checked any shop she came across, scoped out the area surrounding the alley they'd met in, even went down to the beach where a large pirate encampment was set up to have a look around – but he was never there. Asking around hadn't done much good either, unfortunately. Only a few people had actually known who she was talking about and their answers were all the same – they had seen him around the tavern once or twice, but it had been a few weeks since he'd made an appearance.

Billy, it seemed, had fallen off the face of the planet.

It was disheartening, to say the least. But Lydia managed not to feel _too _discouraged when she remembered that he was a pirate and that if he was suddenly no longer in Nassau, it was probably because he had gotten himself onto a crew and was out to sea. It would only be a matter of time before he returned. Lydia would just have to be patient.

On this particularly hot and sunny Tuesday, Lydia could be found around the back of the small stables next to her house. While the hot, relentless sun beamed down on her from above, she leaned over and rubbed a gentle, coaxing hand along the back leg of her uncle's horse, gently urging the beast to lift his large hoof from the ground. When the horse finally did so, Lydia held the hoof secure with one hand and, with the other, cleaned out all the dirt and muck with a pick. Sweat rolled into her eyes as she did this, but she merely wiped her face on the sleeve of her baggy tunic to be rid of them, never turning her concentration away from the task at hand.

Once satisfied that she'd gotten most of the filth cleared away, Lydia gently set the horse's hoof back to the ground and then straightened up, stretching her back for a moment to work out the kinks that had formed while she had been tending to the horse. Then she moved to the front of the horse so she could pat his neck and scratch the underside of his large muzzle.

"See?" Lydia cooed affectionately. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The horse just snorted in return, pulling a small smile from her.

After feeding the horse a few apples, Lydia set down the hoof pick and picked up a bristle brush to start clearing away any dirt or fine particles lodged in his coat. The animal was content to just stand there and leisurely chew its food while Lydia worked. Her eyes followed the path of her own hand as she brushed the steed's coat, admiring the nearly instantaneous shine that appeared in her brush's wake…but it wasn't very long before her eyes slowly drifted toward the open water that their house overlooked, hopefully scanning the blue expanse before her.

Although her disappointment over Billy's absence still lingered in the back of her mind, for the past few days there had been a feeling of both anticipation and impatience that had started growing in the pit of her belly. Before her uncle had left Nassau he'd told her that he would only be gone for a few weeks – apparently this time around he was merely venturing to Port Royal to meet with a few employed spies he had planted there. Well…it had been a few weeks since Uncle Flint had left. And since she knew that the distance between Nassau and Port Royal wasn't _that _horribly far, Lydia expected he would be home any day now. She could just feel it, just _knew _it wouldn't be much longer before the _Walrus _came back to port.

Lydia searched the distance for another optimistic moment, but when there was no sign of any ships on the horizon she sighed dejectedly and turned her gaze away, focusing on the horse again instead.

She hated this, having to sit around and twiddle her thumbs while she waited for any word or sign that the crew of the _Walrus _was home andhad _not_ met some terrible fate. In fact, Lydia would openly admit that it worried her to _death_ whenever Uncle Flint was away – the life of a pirate was as dangerous as it was unpredictable, and the bottom line was this: _Nobody _was truly safe out there on the open water. She had already lost _one _father to the treacherous life of piracy and his death had been an indescribably devastating blow, one that had nearly destroyed her. It terrified Lydia now to think that her beloved Uncle Flint, whom she loved like a father and who was the only man in the whole word who came anywhere _close_ to filling Wesley Cornish's shoes, might meet a similar end. If she were to lose _another _father figure, she really wasn't sure how she'd cope the second time around.

An unbidden memory suddenly surged forth from the back of her mind, making her brushing movements slow in pace as a faraway look entered her eyes. She was no longer seeing Nassau but rather her old home in Havana. About thirteen at the time, Lydia had been in the middle of a reading lesson with her mother when her attention was caught by the sound of an approaching horse outside. She could recall the excited lurching of her belly as she practically jumped out of the chair and raced for the door, certain this sound meant that her father had just returned home after another long sea voyage…but it _hadn't _been her father after all. It had, instead, been her Uncle Flint. And any excitement at seeing him had been short lived once she had seen the sad, solemn look in his eyes, because in that instant she had just _known_ that something had gone horribly wrong.

Lydia shook her head and firmly pushed the memory away before it reached its conclusion, not wanting to think about that awful day for even a moment longer. She didn't want to think about the possibility of Flint never returning to Nassau, either. He was going to be _fine_, or so Lydia vehemently reassured herself. He was a good fighter and knew what he was doing. Flint would come back – he _always _came back. End of story.

"Lydia?" The voice of her mother finally registered in Lydia's ears and pulled her from her thoughts. "Lydia, dear, are you out here?"

"Behind the stables!" Lydia called, still brushing the horse. She listened to the sound of her mother's footsteps as she came to greet her, then glanced over when Margaret appeared in her peripheral vision. She was wearing a fashionable dress – as always – but had also donned a large hat, a sign that Margaret was probably about to go out.

"_There _you are." The woman said with a note of exasperation, lifting her skirts a bit as she walked closer to Lydia. "I haven't seen you for hours…have you been out here with this horse all this time?" Margaret then asked, eyeing the buckets and brushes and tools littering the ground around them.

"Yes." Lydia answered, moving around the horse to pay some attention to his opposite side. "Uncle Flint should be home any day now. I thought it'd be nice if the horse was properly groomed whenever it comes time to retrieve him from town." She then explained.

Margaret pursed her lips a bit at hearing that and made a small 'hmph'ing sound, which made Lydia pause and shoot her mother a look for one small moment in time before she wordlessly resumed her brushing.

Ever since Lydia had gotten old enough to make the trip into town alone, it had become a ritual for her to ride into Nassau and collect her Uncle Flint whenever he returned from sea. She'd find him somewhere in town (usually at Ms. Guthrie's tavern), they'd visit with the crew for a while, then, once business was finished with, they would ride back home together on Flint's large horse. This was an arrangement that had been in tact for the better part of two years, but to this day her mother wasn't fond of it. She had no reservations when it came to vocally expressing her opposition, either – Margaret had pointed out on several occasions that Flint was a grown man who was perfectly capable of finding his own way home and that it was completely unnecessary for Lydia to make an extra trip. She did not approve of Lydia braving the road alone, and she had made sure everyone involved damn well knew that.

Yet no matter how much of a fuss the woman put up, Lydia didn't let that deter her. Because the arrangement, as silly and unimportant as it might have seemed to anyone else, was a special little tradition between Lydia and her uncle.

Flint really wasn't around much because he was often away at sea, but even when he _was _home his attention was always divided between several different obligations – in short, it was rare that Lydia ever had her uncle's complete and undivided attention. So the beauty about going to collect him and riding back home together was that it provided a little sliver of time where, for once, it was just the two of them. There was no _Walrus_,no Gates, no Margaret, no outside influences to preoccupy him…it was just Lydia and her favorite uncle and the open road ahead. They would always take their time getting home – half the time they didn't even ride the horse, they would just walk most of the way – and Flint would tell her everything that he had done and seen while he was away, taking advantage of the fact that his sister was not around to censor him and leaving out _no _details (much to Lydia's delight). In turn, Lydia would update him on anything that had happened on the island while he was away and tell him everything she and Margaret had done in his absence. Then they would just…_talk_, about anything and everything.

So you see, these trips between Nassau and the village, however unnecessary Margaret might think them to be for Lydia, were something she looked forward to. It was _their _time, _their _bonding experience. Her mother could piss and moan all she wanted – it still wasn't going to change anything any time soon.

"Are you going somewhere, mother?" Lydia asked, changing the topic of conversation.

The question seemed to remind Margaret that she had come outside with a purpose, because she blinked as though clearing her thoughts and quickly nodded her head. "Yes, actually I am," she confirmed. "I ordered some fabric from Mr. Hampstead and he said it would arrive today, so I thought I'd drop in now to see if it's arrived," she then proceeded to explain.

"Alright then." Lydia said with a nod of understanding – surprisingly, Mr. Hampstead had yet to say anything about the altercation between Lydia and Joffrey. She'd seen the man twice since then and both times he'd been his usual, courteous self. By this point Lydia was starting to wonder whether or not Joffrey had told his uncle the truth about his wrist injury. She wouldn't blame him if he hadn't; Lydia supposed that if the roles were reversed, she wouldn't have admitted to getting bested by a girl either.

"Then, afterwards, I plan to visit with Mrs. Barlow," Margaret continued. "She's invited me over for afternoon tea." This made Lydia pause again and look over with slightly raised eyebrows. "She also extended the invitation to _you_, if you are interested," Margaret added with a knowing look in her eye.

Mrs. Barlow was, to put it simply, her uncle's woman. To this day Lydia still didn't know much about how they had met, nor did she really know what their plans for their romance were – Uncle Flint did not like to discuss his love-life with anyone, not even Lydia – but they had been together for a long while and she knew her uncle loved her. Margaret seemed to like her too, as the women frequently met for tea and sometimes ran errands together. Lydia herself didn't _dislike _Mrs. Barlow, but their relationship was an interesting one. They were always courteous to one another – especially so whenever Flint was around – but there was an underlying, unspoken sense of competition between the two where the pirate captain was concerned, which made a genuine friendship a little difficult to achieve.

Lydia considered the invitation for a moment and then shook her head. "Tell Mrs. Barlow thank you, but I've still got quite a bit I'd like do here before Uncle Flint arrives." She said with a small smile. "Perhaps next time."

Margaret eyed her for a moment, but if she had anything to say about Lydia rejecting the invitation, she held it back. Instead Margaret just nodded her head in acceptance and said, "Alright, I shall pass the message along." As Lydia resumed her brushing, Margaret spoke again. "Since you will be home and tending to chores anyway, might you also see to the laundry as well?"

Normally Lydia might have put up a fuss about this – laundry was no easy, nor _quick_, task – but today she nodded her head. "Sure," Lydia readily agreed, happy to do any mundane chore available if it meant keeping her mind preoccupied while she waited for her uncle to return. "I'll do it as soon as I'm done with this handsome fellow." She promised her, patting the horse affectionately.

"Thank you." Margaret told her with a grateful smile. She then turned and started to walk away, adjusting the hat atop her head so it blocked the sun a little more efficiently. "I shall be back in a few hours. Stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

Since Margaret wasn't looking, Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother." She answered in a monotonous tone. Once her mother was out of hearing distance and disappearing down the road with a graceful fluttering of her skirts, Lydia leaned in closer to the horse as though telling it a secret. "Honestly, she has _no _faith in me." She muttered to the steed in mock-exasperation. "I'm a trustworthy lady, aren't I?"

The horse just stared back at her for a second before turning its uninterested gaze forward again. Lydia huffed at its lack of reaction and said, "Thanks for the words of encouragement", before resuming brushing his coat.

She finished grooming the horse after another ten minutes then went to secure him in a small, fenced off spot behind the house so he could graze for a while. Then she decided to do as her mother had asked and went to fetch the dirty clothes for washing. Doing the laundry was a lengthy, tedious process, so by the time Lydia had managed to get a few loads done, it was well past noon.

With the freshly washed clothes hanging from the laundry line and drying under the late-afternoon sun, Lydia decided to take advantage of her mother's continued absence and retrieved her sword from its hiding place in the stables. Lydia fastened the sheathed weapon around her hips and walked around to the back of the house again, where the drying clothes blew gently in the wind and the horse still grazed in the fenced off area.

Pulling the sword from it's sheath, Lydia took a moment to admire the way the blade glinted in the sunlight, turning it this way and that and swishing it gently through the air. Then, with a small smile on her lips, she took on a defensive stance as though facing off with an invisible opponent, practically able to hear her uncle voice in her ears – _Keep your grip firm, your back strong, your knees bent, and never, __**ever **__take your eyes off your enemy._ He'd said these words hundreds of times, drilling them into her head so she wouldn't forget them.

With a small cry she lunged forward, slashing her sword through the air as the imaginary battle began. What followed was a series of what Lydia considered to be very fancy maneuvers but, in actually, were really nothing more than just a few wide slices through the air and some ungraceful, inexperienced twirling about. No matter, Lydia didn't really care if she looked like a silly, unpracticed novice. She had a sword in her hand – and not just any sword, _her sword _– and all the time in the world to better her skill. That was more than enough to instantly put her in high spirits.

Lydia had just landed an overly dramatic leap-and-slice trick that she was actually quite proud of when something out on the water suddenly caught her attention. Lowering her sword, Lydia took a few steps forward and shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand, squinting her eyes as she looked a little harder. Then, as it finally registered that the blob she was looking at was an incoming _ship_, she sheathed her sword and turned to run full speed into the house, heading directly for her bedroom.

There was a quick scrambling around as Lydia flew to the trunk at the foot of her bed and rifled through its contents. Trinkets, old books, and other wayward personal possessions were pushed out of the way until her fingers finally wrapped around the object she'd been looking for – the spyglass that her father had gifted her with on her eighth birthday. With a triumphant shout, Lydia held up the spyglass as though it were a trophy, kissed it loudly, then went running back outside.

As soon as she had returned to her previously abandoned spot, the spyglass was raised to her eye and it was turned in the direction she'd seen the ship. For a moment all Lydia saw was a blur of rolling waves and blue sky, but when she turned the handy device just a little bit further to the right, she finally saw it. It was a ship alright – large, menacing looking, and flying a black flag that Lydia instantly recognized.

It wasn't just _any _ship. It was the _Walrus_.

Uncle Flint was _home_.

With a smile so wide it nearly hurt her face, Lydia lowered the spyglass and hurried back inside. After stowing the spyglass back in her trunk and changing into a set of clothes that _didn't _stink of horse and a day of chores, Lydia stepped back out into the sitting room to collect the saddlebags hanging near the front door. She was just draping them over her shoulder when her sword caught her eye – with a heave, Lydia immediately knew that she would have to leave it behind. There was no possible way she'd be able to hide it from Flint, and if he saw her with a weapon there was no doubt he would have some questions. Frowning mournfully to herself Lydia went to stash it in her room, hiding it securely underneath her mattress, and decided to take the dagger that her uncle had given her instead, slipping it into the belt around her waist for safe-keeping.

In all the excitement, Lydia nearly forgot her mother's request that she not run off without informing her first. She was just pulling open the front door when she suddenly remembered, and with a curse to herself Lydia paused to consider her options. She could either ride to Mrs. Barlow's and tell the women she'd seen Flint's ship – which was probably the proper thing to do, but that also meant that Mrs. Barlow would know Flint was home and would probably steal him away the first chance she got – or, she suddenly thought in a stroke of genius, she could just leave a note for her mother to find. Surely the woman would be returning home soon anyway, which meant she would find the note soon enough. It would also save Lydia time and an extra trip.

She decided that a note sounded like a very good idea and went into her uncle's bedroom, heading directly for the desk he had pushed against the far wall. Lydia shifted the saddlebags on her shoulder and began wading through the maps and books and notes littering the surface of the desk, searching for a blank piece of parchment amongst– when she finally located one, Lydia grabbed Flint's quill, dipped it into some ink, and then quickly wrote a short letter explaining where she had gone. Then, after leaving it on the kitchen table where it would be in plain sight, Lydia stepped out of the house so she could begin preparing the horse for the ride into Nassau.

* * *

Lydia made it to Nassau in what felt like record timing. The streets seemed more crowded than usual and were not very horse-accessible, so instead of rudely trampling over any innocent bystanders Lydia found a secure place on the edge of town to tie up the horse and proceeded to the docks on foot. Moving along as fast as the crowded streets would allow, she tried to get a peek at the harbor anytime there was a gap between the buildings, wanting to catch a glimpse of her uncle's ship even if just to make sure she hadn't been seeing things – finally, after walking a few blocks closer to the docks, she was able to see the _Walrus _out on the water. It brought another huge smile to her face and had her quickening her pace as much as the crowd around allowed.

She finally reached the docks just as a jollyboat full of _Walrus _crewmembers was approaching – she spied a few more pulling up to the shores of the pirate-infested beach some twenty to thirty yards away, as well. Lydia recognized all but one or two of the faces in the boats, and while some of the men she was looking at had grown to become her friends over the years, none of these men were the one she _really _wanted to see.

With a frown of disappointment, Lydia raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and looked to see if anymore boats were coming down from the _Walrus_. There weren't.

"_Mademoiselle_ Lydia!" At the sound of her name, she turned to face the jollyboat that had just pulled up to the dock she was standing on. Piling out of the boat were Gustav Lafroy, a French pirate in his late twenties with a curly mustache and brightly colored clothes, a short, bald-headed man she knew to be named Muldoon, and another young pirate named Turk. She knew them all because they sailed under her uncle's flag, but Gustav was the only one of this group she was actually friends with – Muldoon and Turk were always courteous to her, but they usually kept their distance.

Lydia smiled at the sight of her French friend and went to greet him properly. "Gustav, lads! Welcome home!" She greeted with a warm smile. "How was – ?"

Her question was cut short when a large, dark-skinned man, whom she had not seen in the boat previously because he'd been tucked out of sight, suddenly leapt onto the docks with a loud cry. He was wearing the sharp, piranha-like, fake teeth that had become his battle trademark over the years, and the intimidating image he presented along with the suddenness of his appearance had Lydia releasing a small shriek of fright. The man's frightening expression almost immediately melted away as he started laughing, clearly enjoying the fact that he had scared her. Even though Lydia's heart was still pounding against her ribs, she recovered enough to swat at the man with a scowl, not enjoying the fact that he was laughing at her expense.

"Damn you, Joshua!" She scolded, swatting him again for good measure. He just dodged the attempted blow with effortless ease while Gustav chortled away nearby – Muldoon and Turk also shared a few snickers as they continued on toward town. "You scared me half to death!"

Joshua was still chuckling to himself as he pulled the fake teeth out of his mouth. "That was the point." He responded in his exotic, African accent, smirking triumphantly as he put the teeth in the bag hanging from his shoulder. Lydia started to grumble out a response but barely got the chance before Joshua pulled her in for a one-armed hug, roughly ruffling the hair on top of her head with the knuckles of his free hand – Joshua was also one of the few select members of the crew that Lydia had formed a friendship with. Once they had discovered that they shared a mutual love for playing tricks on Mr. Gates, being friends had only seemed practical, really.

Lydia, whose hair was already wild and windblown and barely in its braid after the ride in, managed to squirm out of his grasp before attempting to tame the mess he'd created. "How was the voyage?" She asked now that she was over her moment of surprise. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Zere is nothing much to report, unfortunately, except for a…_minor _altercation wiz a Schooner." Gustav answered with a shrug, brushing his nails along the lapel of his jacket nonchalantly. "It was nothing we could not 'andle, eezn't zat right, Joshua?" He asked, clapping his companion boisterously across the back.

Joshua puffed out his chest and started like he was going to boast, but the sound of commotion on the beach brought their conversation to a quick halt. The trio turned investigative eyes in that direction only two see that a group of _Walrus _crewmen had surrounded a young, dark haired man and were forcing him in the direction of town. On initial impact one might think the dark haired man had done something to anger those around him, as they were shoving him around and not being gentle about it as they guided him along, but even from where Lydia was standing she could see the wide, lecherous grins on their faces. They were certainly up to something, but not necessarily something bad.

"What is that about?" She asked curiously.

Joshua and Gustav shared a knowing look before Joshua said, "Initiation for the new recruits."

Lydia's brows furrowed together as she turned a skeptical look on the two pirates. She wasn't surprised to hear that there was _some _kind of initiation process for new crew members, but thus far nobody had ever told her what it was. Lydia had never really thought to ask, come to think of it. "And what exactly must he do?"

"_Chez les putes_." Gustav answered with a smirk. When Lydia merely stared at him blankly in return, having no earthly idea what he was saying since she didn't understand the foreign language, he smirked and clarified himself. "Visit the whores." He told her, this time in English.

Joshua immediately landed a backhanded swat to the Frenchman's stomach and shot him a look that said he probably shouldn't have told her that, but Lydia was too busy watching the group disappear into the crowds of Nassau to notice. Well, this particular tradition for the _Walrus _crew was…_interesting_. And now she knew why she'd never heard of it before, as it was very likely her uncle had told the men not to discuss such things around her. It did, however, leave her wondering whether this was a tradition that _all _of the crews around Nassau partook in. Lydia wasn't naïve, she knew that most of the men around here frequented the local brothel, but she still suddenly found herself thinking about Billy and hoping that _he _was in that small percentage of pirates that _didn't _visit the whorehouse.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Lydia shifted her attention back to her two pirate friends and turned questioning eyes on them. "Is my uncle still on the _Walrus_?" She asked, changing the subject to more important matters.

"No," Joshua answered with a shake of his head. "He and Gates were the first off the ship. They headed straight for Eleanor Guthrie's tavern," he then explained. When Lydia cast a look in the direction of the tavern, her eagerness to see her uncle apparent in her expression, Joshua placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come," he urged with a nod of his head, "Gustav and I will escort you there."

Lydia nodded and then, as the two pirates flanked her on either side, they started for the tavern.

It took longer than usual to get to the tavern because the streets were so overcrowded with dirty, weathered pirates in every direction; Joshua and Gustav kept close to Lydia as they slowly made their way to through the loud throng, quite obviously (and quite wisely) serving as her bodyguards. She had been so focused on the _Walrus _upon reaching the docks that she hadn't taken the time to see how many more ships had come to port since the last time she'd been in town – Lydia glanced back toward the harbor now and was surprised to see that at least four more ships were anchored in the near vicinity of the _Walrus_. That meant at least more four pirate crews were now roaming about Nassau, which certainly explained why the small town was so congested.

Lydia felt her stomach flip with excitement when realization suddenly struck her like lightening.

If more ships and more crews had come to Nassau since the last time she'd been there, then maybe one of them was the one that _Billy _was on. If she had guessed right and he _had _been out to sea, maybe now he had returned to Nassau.

Her eyes started searching the crowd with barely concealed eagerness, once again roaming over the sea of people for any sign of the tall, towering pirate. The last few times she'd tried to find him it had been with a sense of hopelessness, but now there was only optimism and excitement rushing through her. Lydia wasn't sure why, but she just _knew _that she was going to see Billy again soon, maybe even _today_. Now she just had to hope and pray that her uncle – nor anyone from the _Walrus _crew – was around when it happened, otherwise everything might get ruined.

As Lydia, Joshua, and Gustav finally stepped into Ms. Guthrie's lively tavern, the door to her office opened and out walked Flint and Gates, followed by the blonde-haired Eleanor Guthrie and her dark-skinned, stern-faced partner, Mr. Scott. Flint was sunburned and looked in dire need of a bath, but seeing him alive and uninjured made relief wash over her like cold water on a hot day.

He was sharing a few last minute words with Ms. Guthrie when his eyes suddenly landed on her. At first he seemed surprised, but then, in the next moment, he looked very much _un_surprised to see Lydia and gently shook his head in resignation. Flint then sent her a small smile of acknowledgement, but otherwise motioned for her to wait where she was before turning back to finish his conversation with Ms. Guthrie.

"Well, ze time 'as come for me to 'ave a drink." Gustav announced. "Shall you join me?" He then asked, eyes glancing back and forth between Lydia and Joshua. Joshua thought it over for a moment before shrugging and nodding. Gustav clapped his back approvingly, then turned questioning eyes on Lydia. "_Mademoiselle_ Lydia?"

She could only shoot him a doubtful look and raise her eyebrows at him in a knowing manner. "Do you _know _what my uncle would do to you if he knew you got me drunk?" She asked, her tone hinting that he'd be wise _not _to do such a thing.

Gustav pursed his lips as he thought this over, which made his curly mustache bounce around a bit. "A valid point." He conceded before throwing an arm around Joshua's shoulder. "_Allons, mon ami_, let's geet a drink."

Lydia went to lean against the wall of the tavern as Joshua and Gustav made their way toward the bar. As was usually the case, the tavern was nearly full to capacity with drunk pirates and scantily clad prostitutes, and between the constant chatter, loud singing, and clanging of mugs, the noise was almost too much. Lydia had to wonder how in the _world _Ms. Guthrie was able to stand this day in and day out – surely the woman would go mad at some point. Actually, that was probably the reason why the woman was always so surly these days – she was probably sick to death of rowdy, unruly pirates.

Her eyes had just started scanning the crowd, deciding that while she was here she should search the crowd for that elusive face she'd been trying to find for the past two weeks, when Gates suddenly appeared at her side. "Shoulda known you'd be here." He said, smirking at her fondly as he placed his hands on his hips.

Lydia smiled and pushed away from the wall to give the man a hug. He returned it and patted her once on the back before they parted. "It's very good to see you in good health, Mr. Gates." She told him sincerely, happy to see that he too had returned unharmed.

"Good to _be _in good health." Gates agreed with a smile and nod. "Now tell me," he continued, raising his eyebrows, "what sort of trouble did you stir up while we were away?" He jibed, half joking but also half serious.

Lydia huffed and shot him a look. "I didn't stir up _any _sort of trouble, thank you very much." She told him snootily. Then she remembered the altercation with Joffrey and pursed her lips, which Gates noticed and quirked an eyebrow at. Lydia just shrugged a shoulder. "Well, not _much_ anyway." She added, her tone defensive. When Gates didn't look convinced, Lydia huffed and said, "My actions were completely justifiable, even mother thought so. So _there_." She finished firmly, as though that concluded the matter.

"What are we talking about now?" A new voice asked.

Lydia turned to see that Flint had finally finished with Ms. Guthrie and made his way over to them. With a large smile she went to hug him, not really caring what the pirates in the tavern would think of the affectionate gesture. Flint didn't seem to either, as he accepted her hug and kissed the top of her hair in a fatherly way. "I am glad to see you home safe, uncle." Lydia said, squeezing him for good measure.

"As am I." Flint agreed, patting her a few times before finally releasing her. "However, I do not recall sending word to tell you I had arrived." He said, one of his eyebrows quirking upward. "Do you mind telling me how exactly you knew I was here?"

"I was outside tending to chores back home and saw your ship out on the water." Lydia explained. "I left at once to meet you here and save you the trouble of sending a messenger."

Flint nodded his understand, but then sighed. "Do not take this badly, but I wish you had not." He told her with a small frown. When Lydia's eyebrows came together in confusion, he explained himself. "I have been summoned by Richard Guthrie to meet with him on the mainland. Gates and I are leaving straight away and will not return until tomorrow morning."

Lydia blinked in surprise, then immediately frowned in dissatisfaction. Her uncle had returned only to turn around and leave again? It was only for a night, but still. "Well, that is a little…disappointing." Lydia told him, her shoulders slumping some. She had really been looking forward to catching up with her uncle. Now, it seemed, that would have to wait.

"I know and I am sorry, both for leaving and for you coming all this way unnecessarily." Flint told her, his tone apologetic. "I was _going_ to send word telling you to come collect me in the morning, but you, my impatient niece," he continued, a good-natured smirk appearing on his lips and fond gleam entering his eyes, "were already a step ahead of me, _as usual_." He chastised lightly.

Lydia flushed a bit with embarrassment before crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, well, perhaps I _might _have been a little overzealous." She admitted. "I was just excited to see you, is all." Lydia added in defense of her actions.

Flint smiled a genuine smile and patted her cheek affectionately. "It's alright." He assured her. "And I'm happy to see _you_, Lydia." That made her smile again. "Now, what was this you were telling Gates before I interrupted?" Flint asked, returning to the conversation that she'd nearly forgotten about by now.

Lydia expression immediately turned to pure innocence and she shrugged a casual shoulder. "There was a…_minor incident _with a young man that mother forced me to meet." When Flint's eyebrows raised, she quickly said, "I didn't do anything terrible, I swear! Just…taught him a lesson in manners. A _much needed _lesson."

Flint let that one sink in before shaking his head in bemusement. "That sounds like something that needs to be discussed further, but unfortunately that conversation will have to wait." He said with a slight shake of his head. Then he turned to Gates. "Mr. Guthrie is expecting us. We shouldn't keep him waiting."

Gates nodded his understanding. "Ready when you are, Captain."

Lydia looked back and forth between the two men before frowning. "And what should I do?" She asked to catch their attention.

Flint immediately quirked a brow and stared at her in silence for a few seconds, as though trying to understand what he'd just heard. "What do you mean?" He asked, his tone pure confusion. "You will go home." He then stated, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Just to turn around tomorrow morning and come all the way back?" Lydia asked doubtfully, her frown deepening some. "That seems a little excessive, does it not?"

"I could always find an alternate way home to save you the extra trip." Flint reminded her.

Lydia just raised a knowing eyebrow. "And how many pirates around here have horses that you know of?" She rebutted pointedly – Lydia and Flint both knew the answer to that question, and it was _none_. The pirates of Nassau had no need for horses seeing as most of their time was spent on a ship; even when they _were _on dry land, everything in town was within walking distance. There were also very few people that had any reason to venture outside of the town limits, so as far as this part of the island was concerned, horses weren't exactly easy to come across.

Flint fell silent for a moment, weighing Lydia's rebuttal in his head, then shared a look with Gates. "What exactly are you suggesting?" He asked in an even voice, turning narrowed, suspicious eyes on her again.

It wasn't until he'd asked that Lydia even realized what she was trying to get at. She told herself that she only wanted to stay in Nassau to save herself the extra trips and extra trouble…but really, deep down, she knew it was for another reason altogether. Something in Lydia's gut was telling her that if she found a way to remain here for the night that she might see Billy again. Now she just had to convince her uncle that her spending the night in a place overrun by pirates was a _good_ idea.

"Allow me to stay here tonight." Lydia blurted out in a rush, deciding to just go for it.

Flint's answer was immediate. "Absolutely not."

She deflated some at his answer, but wasn't about to give up that easily. "Think about it, Uncle Flint!" Lydia persisted. "If I leave only to return tomorrow, that's _two more trips _I'll have to make on the open road – _by myself_." She pointed out. "Not to mention that its starting to get late and the sun will be going down soon enough. It'll be dark before I even make it home. And you _know _how dangerous those roads can be at night, uncle, especially for a young lady – do you really want to subject me to such a risky journey?"

A look of frustration immediately passed over Flint's features. She guessed it was because she was making a little _too_ much sense for his comfort. "Nassau is just as dangerous, Lydia." He countered. "Even more so once night has fallen and everyone has gotten more drink in them."

"And I shall have the entire crew of the _Walrus_ nearby to go to for help should trouble come along." She reminded him. "You know _very _well that none of those men would allow anything bad to happen to me – Joshua and Gustav _alone_ would kill every man in Nassau if it meant keeping me safe." Flint's scowl deepened, because once again, Lydia had made a good point and gained the upper hand in the argument. "You can trust me, uncle." She continued, dropping her voice and trying a gentler, more genuine approach. "Have I ever give you a reason – a _real _reason – not to?"

Flint thought it over for a second then grumbled out a reluctant, "No." He looked to Gates for a moment, who shrugged as though silently saying, '_It's your decision'_, before cursing under his breath and looking back to Lydia in defeat. "Curse it all, you're just as crafty and gifted with your words as your mother." There was a pause, then he growled out, "Wait here," before turning to stomp over to the bar where Ms. Guthrie was now serving patrons.

Lydia and Gates, both unsure what to make of his reaction, watched in silence as Flint and Ms. Guthrie leaned in close to one another and quietly conversed, the pirate captain motioning back toward Lydia several times – judging by the jerkiness of his movements, he was not a very happy camper at the moment. Lydia suddenly had a feeling she knew what her uncle was asking of the powerful young woman and felt her hope begin to grow. When Ms. Guthrie's gaze shifted over to her and she began nodding her head in what seemed like reluctant agreement, Lydia knew then that she had won – she had _actually _managed to convince her uncle to let her stay in Nassau for the night.

It required all of her self-control not to celebrate.

Flint finally left the bar and headed back toward Lydia and Gates, a grumpy frown on his face. When he reached them, he let out a small heave through his nose. "There are a few spare rooms upstairs that Ms. Guthrie rents out to travelers," he informed her in a stiff voice, "and she has _graciously_ agreed to let you stay in one for the night free of charge." Lydia started to response to that, but clamped her lips shut again when Flint stepped in close and pinned her with a stern stare. "You are _not _to leave this tavern, is that understood?" He said, pointing his index finger in her face.

"Uncle – " Lydia began to protest.

"_Is that understood_?" He repeated himself more firmly, not backing down an inch. Lydia pressed her lips together before slowly nodding her head. "Good." He said before calling for Joshua and Gustav over the noise of the tavern. Once the two pirates had reemerged from the crowd and joined them, Flint looked at them in a way that said his next words were to be taken very seriously. "Lydia is staying here tonight." He informed the two, which earned him two similar looks of surprise in return. "I am now awarding you both the task of making sure her stay is…an _uneventful_ one. She is not to step even _one foot _through the door of this tavern. If she _does_, or if some form of harm comes to her under your watch, know that it will be me and my _cutlass_ that you will answer to – have I made myself clear?"

Joshua and Gustav shared slightly alarmed looks before promptly nodding and saying, "Yes, Captain," in almost perfect unison.

Flint nodded in approval before turning back to Lydia. He seemed unhappy with the arrangement and rather irritated that she'd managed to talk him into it, but he still reached out to half-heartedly ruffle her hair before pulling her in close. "Behave." He commanded, staring directly into her similarly colored eyes. "And do _not _make me regret this decision." Then, after pressing a quick, slightly begrudging kiss to her hair, he said, "I will see you tomorrow," and headed for the door.

Lydia watched his retreating back for a moment before shifting her gaze over to Gates. The quartermaster was shaking his head to himself in obvious disapproval, clearly thinking Flint mad for allowing Lydia to remain in Nassau for an entire evening, but he seemed to know better than to express it aloud. Instead of saying anything he just looked at Lydia for a moment, sighed, then turned to follow Flint.

The moment the two men left the tavern and disappeared from sight, the wide, triumphant smile she'd been holding back finally broke free and she couldn't resist indulging herself a small celebration. She'd done it, she had _actually_ convinced Flint to let her stay the night in town Nassau. And _alone, _no less (if you didn't count her new bodyguards). Never before had she done anything like this – never before had she had this much time to herself and this much _freedom _to do whatever she wanted. It was so liberating that it was almost overwhelming.

Lydia turned to Joshua and Gustav with a small, mischievous smirk, already knowing exactly what she planned to do with all the time she now had on her hands. She had told her uncle she would stay in the tavern, but honestly, where was the fun in that? Lydia was on a mission to find her handsome rescuer, and as soon as she figured out a way to lose her bodyguards, she had every intention of seeing that mission through.

Now she just had to come up with a plan.

"Well, lads, I don't know about you," Lydia said with a twinkle in her eye, enjoying the wary looks they sent toward each other, "but I think we've got a very fun night ahead of us." Then, deciding she might as well have something to eat while she worked out the details of her escape plan, Lydia clapped them both on the back before brushing past them. "Come, let us get something to eat – I'm _starved_."

The two pirates just shared a look as though silently asking each other, _What in the world have we gotten ourselves into?, _before following after her.

* * *

Unfortunately, by the time the sun was going down Lydia still had not been able to make a clean get-away from the tavern. She had eaten dinner with Joshua and Gustav, had played a few games of dice with some of the other _Walrus _crew, and had even snuck in a small glass of rum or two whenever Ms. Guthrie and Mr. Scott weren't looking, but as the hours stretched on and afternoon turned into evening, it became apparent that her bodyguards were taking their jobs very seriously. They didn't even budge when the rest of the crew decided to go build a bonfire on the beach not long after sunset and celebrate their return (though Lydia did spy expressions of longing and regret on their face). That alone was proof enough of how committed Joshua and Gustav were to the task Flint had given them.

When business at the tavern _really _started to pick up, Mr. Scott came to collect her and show her to the room she'd be staying in upstairs. Joshua and Gustav followed close behind as the older man led Lydia through the crowd, then trailed after them when they ascended the steps to the second floor. There were a few more tables upstairs as well and a short hallway straight ahead that led to three small rent spaces. While Lydia followed Mr. Scott toward her room, Joshua and Gustav both grabbed a chair each and placed them near the end of the hallway, setting them on either side. Then they sat down to keep watch.

The room was tiny and really nothing special, but that didn't matter much to Lydia – she didn't plan on staying for very long anyway. Mr. Scott stayed just long enough to exchange a few words with her then was showing himself out, leaving Lydia to her own devices. The man's abrupt departure didn't hurt her feelings. She knew Mr. Scott because she had visited the tavern with her uncle on a number of occasions and he was almost always there, but Lydia wouldn't consider him a friend; he was far too serious for her taste. Ms. Guthrie, however, she liked well enough – it was hard _not_ to admire a woman capable of putting even the most terrifying of pirates in their place.

Once Mr. Scott was gone, Lydia locked the door behind him and then went to the basin to wash up a bit, just in case – she'd hate to run into Billy again stinking to high heaven. After she felt a little cleaner, she peered around her room for a moment, trying to decide where to go from there. When her eyes landed on the good seized window on the other side of the room, a smirk immediately tugged at her lips.

Lydia crossed the room and went to the window, pleased when the panes easily pushed open, then poked her head out to have a look around. It was dark now, so the only lighting on the street came from the sporadically placed torches that line the man road. With a frown, she realized that there really wasn't much to work with – the ground was too far down to drop and, from what she could see, there was nothing close enough for her to climb out onto. Twisting around so she could look upward, Lydia discovered that the roof really wasn't so far away. She'd have to be careful about it, but after assessing the situation a bit further Lydia was confident she'd be able to use the windowsill to reach the roof and pull herself up.

With a deep intake of air, Lydia carefully climbed up into the open window and then slowly, fancily maneuvered around until her back was to the street below. Gripping the edges of the window tightly so she wouldn't fall, she balanced herself before reaching up with her left hand first, then her right, and locked her hands onto the edge of the roof. Lydia then placed her feet on either side of the window's frame and slowly climbed them upward until she was close to the top of the window, her body now curled in a way that made her somewhat resemble a frog.

There was a small moment of apprehension where Lydia knew she had to execute her next move carefully – if she didn't go about this the right way, she might accidentally launch herself in the wrong direction. Brows set in a furrow of concentration, Lydia prepared herself by sucking in a few quick breaths before pushing against the window frame with her feet. At the same time she pulled herself upward, never once releasing her firm grip on the roof. The move propelled her body up high enough to where she could get her elbows up on the roof and start to pull herself upward. Her feet scrambled around in the air for a moment, but within moments she was able get a leg up onto the roof. From there, all she had to do was crawl her way to safety and then she was in the clear.

Lydia released a long sigh of relief once she was standing atop the roof, having to take a moment to wipe her slightly sweaty palms on her pant legs. Now that the hard part was done and she'd managed to sneak out of her room without breaking her neck, she glanced around for a moment before walking to the right. There was a tall, fortuitous ladder on the back end of the building – she remembered seeing a tavern worker making repairs to the roof the last time she was in town – so without hesitation Lydia clambered onto it and started to climb her way down.

The moment her feet touched solid ground again Lydia dusted her hands off, feeling quite proud of herself. She didn't give herself very long to celebrate her successful escape however – there was no telling how long it would be before Joshua and Gustav found out she was gone (assuming they ever _did _find out), but she certainly didn't want to be around when they did. Undoubtedly the two would just drag her back inside and keep an even _closer_ watch. So after smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes with her hands, Lydia turned on her heel and started for the main road, making sure to avoid passing too closely to any of the tavern doors or windows.

She was just rounding the building and merging into the crowd when it happened again. Lydia was so busy making sure nobody inside the tavern was any wiser of her departure that she forgot to pay attention to where she was going. One moment she was walking along, keeping a careful eye on Ms. Guthrie through the window and making sure the woman didn't happen to spot her – in the next she was running into something large and solid, making her stumble back in surprise.

"Whoa, there." A male voice said as two large hands steadied her by the arms.

"Forgive me," Lydia started to apologize, turning to face the person she'd just rammed into, "I was not…"

Her words trailed off when she suddenly found herself _not _staring into the eyes of whomever she'd run into, but rather the large, broad chest of a very tall man.

Quite suddenly, something about all of this felt _very _familiar. _Could it be…?,_ Lydia had to wonder to herself. Heart now pounding away in her chest, her eyes slowly began to travel upward, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, then eyeing the necklaces hanging around his long neck. When her eyes finally reached his face and locked gazes with a pair of blue-green irises, her stomach flipped with both nervousness and excitement. The man was not only very good-looking, but also someone that she instantly recognized.

Her gut feeling had been right. Finally, after fifteen long, torturous days, she had found the young, handsome pirate named Billy.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! What do we think (or hope) will happen between Billy and Lydia in the next chapter? Any thoughts?**


	4. Chapter 4

**I haven't had the chance to watch the newest Black Sails episode yet, but let me just say this – if Billy is really dead, I'm going to be _seriously_ _pissed._ Arrrrrrrrgggghhhhh.**

**Anywho, thank you again SO MUCH for all the wonderful reviews and the alerts and the favorites! That's three chapters in a row that have gotten 10+ reviews, you guys, which is _awesome_! You're going to spoil me at this rate! I'm so glad ya'll are enjoying the story so much! It makes me very, very happy!**

**Oh, and remember - I'm making up a whole new backstory for Billy in this story. Yay fiction! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Black Sails.**

* * *

_Chapter Four_

For a moment Lydia and Billy both stood staring at one another in silence, similar looks of surprise on their faces. Lydia knew in an instant that she had been correct in assuming that he'd been out to sea – even in the dim light of the street-torches she could see obvious signs of sun and windburn on his face, not to mention the fact that his already tanned skin was a shade or two darker than last she'd seen. Clearly he had just come back to port sometime recently. Yet after a second or two passed without any recognition showing in his bright eyes, her excitement at seeing him started to fade and Lydia began to fear the worst – had he forgotten about her while he'd be away? Had he not been as eager to see her again as she had hoped? Had she misinterpreted his actions completely?

But then, all of a sudden, a wide smile spread across his handsome face. "It's you." He said, sounding pleased with that fact.

Warmth immediately flooded her veins as her stomach filled with butterflies. Billy _remembered her_. And not only that, but he seemed happy to see her as well. "And it's _you_." Lydia then said in return, a slightly bashful smile tugging at her lips.

"We really _must _stop running into one another like this." Billy joked, his bright, blue-green eyes twinkling with humor. That was about the time he finally seemed to realize that he still had his hands wrapped around her arms. Looking instantly guilty – and maybe even a little embarrassed – he quickly released her. "Sorry."

Even those his sudden nervousness was rather endearing, Lydia still had to shove down a feeling of disappointment at the loss of contact. Her arms tingled where he had touched her, despite the fact that it had been through layers of clothing. "It's fine." She reassured him.

An awkward silence passed between them after that, where neither of them seemed to know what to say to the other. Lydia soon realized that while she'd hoped and wished that she would see Billy again, never once had she ever thought about what she would actually _say _should she actually find herself face to face with him. Lydia had plenty of male friends and never had any problems engaging them in conversation, but this was different – _Billy _was different. What was she supposed to do now? How were they supposed to progress from here?

"For a moment there I thought you didn't remember me." Lydia finally admitted to break the momentary silence, the words tumbling past her lips before she could think twice about them.

Billy smirked, seemingly amused by this statement. "How could I forget _you_?" He countered, making her insides feel a little warm and fuzzy. "Contrary to what you may think, saving young ladies from lewd pirates _isn't_ an everyday occurrence for me."

"Well, you could have fooled _me_." Lydia told him with a small smile. "Thank you again for that," she continued, her tone sincere, "I don't even want to _imagine _what might have happened had you not intervened."

Billy's expression had gone a bit more serious by this point. "Neither do I," he agreed with a small frown, looking mildly perturbed for a moment. "Have you seen them since?" He seemed relieved when Lydia shook her head 'no'. Then he suddenly glanced around, as though he had just realized something and was now looking for someone who was quite obviously not there. "So am I to understand that you are, once again, wandering about Nassau alone? And after dark, no less?" He asked, his tone neutral but his gaze oozing disapproval. "Are you really sure that's such a good idea?"

Lydia couldn't help but straighten up a little and cross her arms over her chest defensively. "I was not _wandering_." She told him, though not with nearly as much sass as she was normally prone to. "I was just…" Billy raised his eyebrows at her while she struggled to come up with a good excuse for her being out after dark. Lydia wracked her brain, trying to come up with something believable – she couldn't very well tell him that she'd been looking for _him_. It would probably frighten him away. "…heading out to do a little stargazing, is all," Lydia finally told him.

"Stargazing?" Billy repeated, taking a moment to glance upward.

"Yes." Lydia lied. "When I looked outside and saw how nice of a night it was, it was simply impossible for me to resist the call of the stars." Billy thought that over for a second before slowly nodding. "And what about you?" Lydia asked to redirect the conversation. "What has _you _wandering around Nassau at night?"

"Well, I _was _headed for the tavern to have drinks with my crew, something about an initiation process of some sort…" Billy told her, glancing pointedly toward the loud, boisterous tavern nearby.

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. The way he'd said that hinted that he'd changed his mind about his original plans. "_Was_?" She repeated questioningly

He nodded before clicking his tongue and shrugging a shoulder in mock-resignation. "I'm afraid that I cannot in good conscious allow you to continue on from this point by yourself." He informed her matter-of-factly. "It's terribly unsafe for a young lady to be alone on the streets at night, especially so when the young lady in question has a knack for attracting trouble." He added knowingly, raising his eyebrows at her. Lydia felt her cheeks turn pink. "So," Billy concluded, "if you do not mind a bit of company, I think I'll go ahead and join you for your stargazing."

Lydia's heart jumped and a feeling of excitement formed in her stomach at the prospect of spending time with him. But, at the same time, Lydia did not want Billy to think she was some helpless little girl or that it was his duty to look after her just because he'd saved her once already. She had enough bodyguards as it was and would rather he _not _become another one. "Your offer is kind, but I do not wish you to feel obligated – " Lydia started to say.

"I don't." Billy interrupted firmly, making her words die on her lips. "Now, where to on this fine, fortuitous evening?" He asked with a small smile, leaving no more room for argument on her part.

Lydia fought the urge to grin like a fool. Billy wanted to spend time with her and _not _because he felt like it was what he _had_ to do. Perhaps Lydia had not been the only one to feel a spark of interest that day in the alley. Maybe, just _maybe,_ she _had _left an impression on him after all.

Still internally swooning a bit, Lydia finally remembered that he was still waiting for an answer. Pursing her lips in thought, she glanced around and tried to think of a good place for them to go stargazing. Finally, as the mental image of a building in town flashed before her mind's eye, Lydia flashed a wide smile up at Billy. "I know just the place."

* * *

About ten minutes later, Lydia could be found standing atop the roof of a two-story apartment building not far from the heart of town. Having climbed this particular building several times before, she had made it to the top with no trouble at all – it was one of the tallest buildings in town and provided the best view of the harbor, so it was not uncommon for Lydia, whilst waiting for Flint to finish with his business, to climb to the roof and watch the ships coming in to port. By now, scaling the tall structure was no longer a challenge for her.

The same, however, could not be said for her companion Billy.

"C'mon, Billy!" Lydia encouraged as she peered at him over the edge of the roof, trying very hard not to giggle as his absurdly tall frame dangled from the balcony below like a large piece of bait. "You can do it!"

Billy shot her a mild glare before using his long, muscled arms to finally heave himself up over the railing, which resulting in him tumbling ungracefully onto the balcony. He landed with a resounding _BOOM_ that made Lydia cringe and then promptly clap a hand over her mouth so he wouldn't hear her laughing at him. While she hoped and prayed that nobody inside had heard the racket, Billy hauled himself back up to his feet and grumbled a few words under his breath – one of them sounded suspiciously like a curse word that started with the letter 'f'. He then dusted himself before following the same path Lydia had taken and stepping up onto the railing of the balcony. After that all he had to do was pull himself up onto the roof, a feat that was made very simple for him thanks to his height.

Billy released a huff of triumph once he was finally standing next to her on the roof. He looked rather proud himself for having made it to the top without injuring himself. Lydia stared up at him for a moment, unable to help the amused smile that was tugging at her lips.

"Not much of a climber, are you?" She finally had to ask, the gleam in her eyes a teasing one.

Billy looked down at her and pulled a face as though he were offended. "Oh sure," he said in huffy exasperation, "I bet scaling the side of a building is no trouble at all for small, delicate flowers such as yourself." The sarcasm in his tone pulled another smile of amusement from Lydia. "As for us _tall _people, we tend to function better closer to the _ground_, thank you very much."

Choosing to ignore the fact that he had just referred to her as a 'small, delicate flower' – had it been _anyone_ else calling her that, she might have hit them – Lydia shrugged a shoulder, her small smile never faltering. "All it takes is a little bit of practice." She told him matter-of-factly. "Now come and take a moment to appreciate this view," Lydia instructed before turning on her heel and walking to the opposite side of the roof, the side that faced the sea.

Billy immediately followed and came to stand next to her, the both of them taking a moment to silently admire the view. Lydia could not hold back the contented sigh that left her lips at the sight of the moonlit harbor, thinking the scene looked almost _ethereal_ from this distance. Usually the harbor was so busy with activity that it looked like an anthill that had been stepped on. But right now, in the dark of night and when everyone was preoccupied elsewhere, it was as still and silent as a pretty, painted picture.

"Everything looks so…_peaceful_ from here." Billy commented in wonderment.

"That is why I like being up here," Lydia admitted. "Tis nice to get away from the chaos and see the island from a different point of view. Believe it or not, Nassau is actually a fairly beautiful place…once you're able to look beyond all the stinky, swashbuckling pirates." She added, shooting the tall pirate next to her a joking smirk.

Billy looked down at her with a lifted brow, but the tiny hint of mirth in his gaze told Lydia he knew she was just teasing him again. "Do you come up here often?" He asked curiously, resuming the conversation.

"Not as often as I would like." Lydia told him with a shake of her head. She moved closer to the edge of the roof and then sat down, letting her legs dangle over the side. "If I'm in town and I have the spare time, then I will. I like to watch the ships come into the harbor," Lydia explained. "Unfortunately, the opportunities to actually do so are few and far between."

Billy followed her suit and sat down next to her, also letting his long legs dangle over the side. "You don't live in Nassau, then?" He asked, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at her.

"No," she answered with a shake of her head, "a little ways outside of it, actually. My mother thought it better if we lived away from all the _scary pirates_." She told him with a roll of her eyes.

Billy smirked for a moment before furrowing his brows questioningly. "If she didn't want to live near _scary pirates_, then why live on New Providence?" He countered curiously.

Lydia pressed her lips together hesitantly, unsure if she should tell him the truth or not. If she told Billy that she and her mother lived in New Providence because her uncle had taken them under his care, it would probably get him asking a lot of personal questions. Lydia was afraid to say anything that might give her identity away, as that would surely bring whatever connection she and Billy had to a screeching halt. And seeing as she was rather enjoying Billy's company at the moment, Lydia wasn't quite ready to share any information that would scare him away.

"That is a long story." Lydia finally told him evasively.

Billy quirked a brow. "I'm a good listener." He assured her, clearly too interested to let it go that easily. "And we've got time."

But Lydia just shook her head in return. "It is a tale for a different day." She told him firmly, standing her ground on the matter.

Billy narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, but not out of annoyance or impatience. Instead he seemed intrigued, curious, if not maybe even a little _unsurprised_ with her reluctance to give up too much personal information. "First you will not tell me your name, nor your _reasons _for not telling me your name," he slowly mused aloud, "and now you will not tell me how you came to live on the island." Billy quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are you mysterious by nature or do you simply not trust me?"

Lydia looked over at him sharply, suddenly afraid that she had offended him. She had been withholding information because she didn't want the knowledge of her family ties to frighten him, but she had never taken into consideration the fact that her evasiveness might end up discouraging him _anyway_.

"It is not a matter of _trust – _" she started to hastily reassure him, hoping to rectify the situation before too much damage was done. The man had saved her from three dirty pirates, after all, _and _she had willingly placed herself in his company at _night _and without a chaperone – how could he think she didn't trust him to at least _some_ extent? But then Lydia saw the mischievous twinkle in his eye and stopped herself short, realizing very quickly that he _wasn't_ as offended as she'd originally thought. "You are _teasing _me." Lydia said, a bit astonished.

"I am." Billy confirmed with a nod and a grin. He seemed even more amused, if not a little proud of himself, when Lydia just laughed a bit and shook her head with a tiny, relieved smile – so not only was Billy _not _easily put off, but he also had a sense of humor. She was liking him more and more. "You may keep your secrets for now, if you wish," he continued, looking down at her with a rather confident smile on his handsome face, "but at some point I _will _get you talking."

Lydia couldn't decide if the promise in his tone excited her or worried her. Unsure what to say in response to that, Lydia cleared her throat and decided it was time to steer the conversation to safer waters. "So what about you, Billy?" Lydia asked, wanting to know more about him. "Why did _you _come to Nassau?"

Billy only hesitated for a second before smirking and turning a look on her. "Well, now _that_ is a long story." He quipped, throwing her own words right back at her. Lydia raised her eyebrows at his cheekiness, but then froze when Billy ducked his head some to peer directly into her eyes, his smirk widening. "See? You're not the only one who can keep secrets." He told her in a low voice, his aqua gaze unblinking holding hers.

She wanted to say something witty in return, she really did. But his close proximity combined with the playful, mischievous look he was giving her promptly had her brain turning to mush, which made coming up with a clever response rather difficult. Did this man even realize how handsome he was? Did he know the effect that he had on the opposite sex?

Lydia finally snapped back to reality when Billy straightened up again and tore his gaze from hers to stare out at the harbor. With a slight frown, she too looked elsewhere, trying to understand the effect that this pirate had on her – whatever it was, it was something Lydia had never felt before. Sure, she had had crushes on boys in the past, but that was nothing more than silly, short-lived puppy-love. _This _was different…or at least, it _felt _different. How was it that this man, whom she hardly knew, could rob her of her coherency and make her feel like a giddy, blushing maiden with just one look?

Shaking those thoughts from her head before she could dwell any further, Lydia gazed up at the stars for a moment, trying to decide what to say next. It seemed they had reached a stalemate – if Lydia wasn't going to talk, then apparently neither was Billy. With a sigh of defeat, she had to wonder if this was his sneaky way of scheming her into revealing details about herself. If it was, he was doing a good job of it.

"Perhaps we can strike a deal," Lydia suggested, making him look down at her again. "A question for a question, but only if it isn't anything _too _personal."

Billy seemed a little pleased with the fact that she had decided to be a bit more cooperative now, but still raised an unsure eyebrow. "Nothing too personal, huh?" He paused to think about it for a second. "Alright, sounds fair enough I suppose." Then he waved his hand grandly and inclined his head to her. "Ladies first."

Lydia asked the first question that came to mind. "How old are you?"

"Twenty." Billy answered. "And yourself?"

"Seventeen." Lydia glanced toward the harbor as she paused to consider her next question, then looked back up at Billy with curious eyes. "Where did you live before?"

Billy glanced away and a faraway look entered his eyes, as though he were thinking back on memories from a past life. "I was born in Leicester and lived there for most of my life," he answered, "but most recently I was living in Boston."

Lydia's eyes widened with amazement. She had heard _plenty_ about Boston and the colonies from travelling merchants. The place might not seem so amazing to others, but to an island girl who had never stepped foot on the mainland, it sounded huge and diverse and downright _fascinating_. Boston was a place she wished to visit at some point in her life, so hearing that Billy had _lived _there immediately had her interest skyrocketing. "You _lived _in Boston?" She asked, not bothering to hide how awe-struck. "What was it like?"

Her zeal and rapid questions made Billy chuckle lowly. The sound of it made warmth spread through her limbs again. Lydia liked hearing him laugh – it was…soothing. She vowed to try to make him laugh more if she could. "Yes, I did. And it was certainly…interesting," he answered with a bob of his head. "Boston was a very busy city. There was always something going on somewhere, always someone trying to discover the newest path to unending wealth..." Billy paused, then looked down at Lydia. "Honestly, it was all a little overwhelming," he admitted. "I've learned I'm not cut out for the bustle of colonial Boston. I much prefer what Nassau has to offer."

Lydia, enjoying the fact that Billy was opening up to her, started to ask another question while it was still fresh in her mind. Just as she opened her mouth to do so, however, Billy cut her off. "I _do _think it's my turn to ask some questions," he said with a knowing look, "especially seeing as you've just asked me three."

He had a point, but Lydia still frowned at him grumpily. "I only asked _two, _thank you very much," she said, her tone a bit on the bratty side.

Billy shook his head then held up an index finger. "One – _where are you from_?" He repeated calmly. Now he was holding up two fingers. "Two – _you lived in Boston_?" Lydia pressed her lips together when he held up one more finger. "And three – _what was it like_? So you see," Billy said, dropping his hand again, "that's _three questions_."

It took every ounce of her self-control not to roll her eyes. "Well, alright then, Mr. _Know-It-All_, ask your _three questions_ then." She conceded, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

Billy smiled at her reaction, clearly amused. Lydia could sense that there was a witty comment lurking on the tip of his tongue, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. "How did you get so good at climbing?" He asked her curiously, acting as though she _wasn't _currently pouting to a certain extent.

The question made Lydia forget her momentary exasperation in an instant. A fond smile spread across her face as memories of days spent climbing trees and buildings flashed across her mind – climbing was one of her very favorite things to do and it had been for a long time. "I started when I was just a young girl," Lydia told Billy, smiling up at him, "My old home was near a small forest, so I used to climb the trees there all the time. The older and stronger I got the easier it became, until one day it was just no trouble at all. By now it's practically second nature to me."

Billy nodded his understanding. Then, after a moment of thought, he asked, "How long have you lived in Nassau for?"

"A few years now," Lydia answered.

"And what made you and your family move here again?" He asked without missing a beat, his tone and expression nothing short of innocent curiosity.

His sly attempt to weasel the information out of her, however, did not go unnoticed by Lydia. Evidently Billy thought that if he got her answering a rapid procession of questions that she would, without even realizing it, automatically answer this one as well, even though she'd already firmly denied him the information twice already.

"Oh, I don't think so," Lydia said with a quick laugh and a shake of her head. "A fine attempt…but as I said earlier, that is a tale for another day."

Billy laughed then held a hand up in surrender. "Forgive me," he said with a lopsided smile, "I could not resist trying."

Lydia just smirked at him before looking out toward the harbor again. As her eyes habitually turned to the _Walrus_, she found herself wondering about Billy's time as a pirate. "How long have you been pirating for?" Lydia inquired, eyes turning back to the attractive man on her right.

He flashed her a lop-sided smile. "You're so sure I'm a pirate, then?" He countered, even though they both knew very well that he was.

Lydia smiled sweetly. "There's no fooling me – I know a pirate when I see one," she assured him. "Now answer my question."

Billy nodded his head in a conceding manner. "Only a few years," he admitted. "To put it simply, when I decided to leave Boston I got myself onto a privateer ship, which eventually lead me to piracy and, in turn, lead me here," Billy explained. "I've only recently gotten myself a permanent place on a crew."

"Which one?" Lydia asked curiously, the faces of different pirate captains suddenly floating around in her mind – it would be fine if he had managed to get on Captain Hornigold's crew (though that was unlikely, as Hornigold didn't usually let men he didn't know onto his ship) and she could probably even stomach it if he had joined Captain Naft and his crew on the _Intrepid. _But if he was on the crew of, say, Captain Vane and the _Ranger_ or – much worse – the _Walrus_, well…that would be very, very bad.

To Lydia's disappointment, Billy shook his head in answer to her question. "I do believe that would fall under the category of '_too personal'_." He shot at her pointedly, making her instantly hate herself for setting those stupid boundaries in the first place – now Lydia would have to continue wondering who he'd allied himself with until he saw fit to tell her. "Next question," Billy continued on before she had the chance the get a word in, "if you do not live in town, why are you staying here tonight?"

Lydia cringed and shook her head. "Too personal," she informed him. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you that."

He seemed unsure what to make of her reaction, because his eyebrows immediately came together and he frowned at her uncertainly. "That sounds a bit ominous…should I be worried?"

The question made Lydia think about her uncle. Though the answer was a resounding _yes, _Billy should be _very _worried when it came to James Flint, there was no way she was about to tell _him _that. Not yet, anyway. "Nah," Lydia lied, trying to keep her demeanor as indifferent as she could. When she noticed that Billy didn't _quite _look convinced, she spoke again before he had the chance to pry any further. "How do you like your new crewmates?" She asked to change the subject.

Billy eyed her for a moment, obviously noting her avoidance of the topic, but once again chose to say nothing about it. "So far, so good, I suppose." He answered after a beat of hesitation. "Being the new man on crew isn't easy, but…they're hospitable enough. Hospitable for _pirates, _anyway."

Lydia laughed a bit at that – for she knew _exactly _how pirates had the tendency to get – and nodded her understanding. "They won't be angry with you for skipping your initiation, then?" She asked, remembering then that Billy had originally been en route to meeting with his crew mates. Though still unsure whether his 'initiation' involved prostitutes or not, it left her feeling rather pleased to know that he had skipped it just to spend time with her.

Billy just smiled down at her. "I'm sure they are, but..." He trailed of and shrugged his shoulder, as if silently saying '_oh well'_. "I think this is worth whatever repercussion I might face."

That made Lydia smile bashfully and look down at her own lap for a moment. Billy certainly knew how to be charming, that was for sure. "And what of the captain?" She asked next, getting back to the conversation at hand. "What do you think of him?"

He had to think a little harder about that one, but eventually he just shrugged a shoulder. "He's…intimidating, to say the least." Lydia wasn't surprised to hear that. Most of the pirate captains in the Caribbean were rough, no-nonsense men with hard-earned wisdom and no time (or patience) for petty shenanigans. Being intimidating tended to just come with the territory. "But," Billy continued, sounding a bit sarcastically chipper now, "he didn't kill me. So _that's_ good."

Lydia smiled at him encouragingly. "I should say so," she agreed. Then, when he sighed and looked back to the water with furrowed brows, she nudged him with her elbow. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Billy." She reassured him. "You're smart, you're _brave, _and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Once your captain gets to know you, I have no doubt that he'll like you just fine."

Billy shifted his gaze back over at her with raised eyebrows, looking both flattered and surprised by her compliment. Lydia felt her cheeks immediately turn red with embarrassment – she hadn't realized how boldly she was speaking until the words were already out. Finding it a little difficult to meet his gaze now, Lydia turned her eyes elsewhere, now very interested in what was going on down on the streets below. A few seconds later, when she finally felt brave enough to look at Billy again, Lydia found that the look in his eyes was hard for her to decipher. Nevertheless, it made a zing of awareness shoot down her spine.

"So…" Lydia continued when the palpable silence between them became a little too much to handle. "What will you do until your crew's next grand adventure?"

Billy blinked and whatever look he'd been giving her vanished in an instant. "I hadn't thought about it, to be honest," he answered with a shrug. "What _is _there to do in Nassau?"

"Well, from what I understand, most of the men around here like to divide their time between the tavern and the brothel…" Lydia told him slowly, watching him closely for his reaction.

Alright, so perhaps she had been trying to think of a way to bring up the brothel because she wanted to see where Billy stood on the matter – honestly though, could Lydia be blamed for wanting to know? Billy was young, handsome, and seemed like a decent man so far. She knew she was starting to like him already. Should Lydia learn that he supported and willingly went to bed with prostitutes, however, well…it would be a disappointment, that much was certain.

At the mention of the brothel, Billy suddenly seemed uncomfortable and lifted a large hand to rub at the back of his neck. Lydia wasn't entirely sure what to make of his reaction, but before she had the chance to start assuming the worst he spoke. "Right, well, the tavern I don't mind…but I cannot necessarily say the same for the brothel." His words made relief course through her veins like a wild, raging river that had just burst through a confining dam. "While my crewmates, both past _and _present, seem rather…_fond…_of the local whores," he continued, "I would much prefer to find myself in the company of a pretty lady because she _wants _to be there, not because I paid her."

Then he shot her a pointed look that made her feel as though he was silently trying to make her understand something, only Lydia was so busy staring at him in stunned silence that she couldn't even begin to fathom what that 'something' might have been. This man absolutely amazed her – in fact, he was almost too good to be true. He was handsome and charming and intelligent, but best of all he seemed to have _morals._ That was a rare commodity indeed around Nassau, but even more so in _pirates._

Lydia finally recovered from her pleasant surprise and offered him a small smile. "You aren't like the other men here, you know," she told him matter-of-factly, making him raise his eyebrows questioningly. "You're…different." Then, before Lydia could stop them, the words came tumbling out. "I like you, Billy."

Billy seemed surprised, then he seemed rather pleased. Butterflies erupted in her stomach when he leaned a fraction closer and his arm brushed against hers. "You do, do you?" He asked, his tone a bit cocky.

Lydia couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Alright, you arrogant arse, don't make me regret saying that..." She warned him, though the smirk on her face and twinkle in her eye made it was obvious she was just giving him a hard time.

Billy laughed at that and the sound immediately sent warmth through Lydia's limbs. When he sobered up, he smiled down at her warmly and leaned in a tiny bit closer. "I like you, too," he said in a low voice, "...even though you _still_ haven't told me your name."

Lydia laughed a bit and felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She almost started to look away, feeling bashful and nervous all of a sudden, but when she realized that Billy was leaning even closer, she froze. For a moment she wasn't sure what he was doing, but when his eyes dropped down to her lips, realization struck her like a cannon blast.

Billy was thinking about _kissing her_.

Lydia suddenly stiffened with nervousness. Never before had she been kissed…well, alright, there _had_ been a boy in Havana that had kissed her when they were playing a game once, but Lydia certainly didn't think that counted. As far as _proper _kisses went, she had about as much experience as a nun. Yet here Billy was in all of his tall, handsome, charming glory, leaning closer still and looking at Lydia with question in his blue-green eyes, clearly asking for permission to kiss her. She was torn, uncertain whether she should let him or not. Part of her was giddy and excited and very much wanted to know what his lips would feel like against hers…but, at the same time, Lydia had never been so unbelievably nervous in her entire life. What if she disappointed him? Or, worse, what if because she allowed him to kiss her now, so soon after meeting, he ended up getting the wrong idea about her?

"Oy!" A voice suddenly shouted from below, making them both jump.

Whatever spell that had surrounded them disappeared in a flash, leaving the two to look around confusedly instead, not entirely sure what had just interrupted their moment. "You two up there!" The voice called again. When Billy's leg jerked as though something had hit his foot, he and Lydia finally leaned forward to look down at whoever was shouting – they hadn't noticed it before, but their feet had been dangling in front of a window the entire time they'd been sitting there. A round-bellied man was now leaning out of said window and glaring up at them grumpily.

"Wha' you doin' on my _roof_?" He demanded, shaking his fist. "Get down from there 'fore I fetch me pistol!"

Lydia and Billy shared a look. "Time to go?" He asked, raising his brows pointedly.

"I'd say so." Lydia agreed with a nod.

They were on their feet and scurrying back across the roof in the blink of an eye, heading straight for the balcony that they had used to climb up onto the roof in the first place. While the man continued to rant and rave, his voice growing louder as he moved through his house and neared where they were, Billy clambered down onto the balcony first, landing on his feet with a thud. As he then proceeded to climb over the railing and shimmy down a support beam until he'd reached ground level, Lydia followed his lead and gracefully hopped down onto the balcony next. She was just climbing over the railing, however, when the doors to the balcony flew open only feet in front of her.

Lydia froze for a moment, staring at the raging man with wide eyes, until the sound of Billy's voice drew her attention. "Jump! I'll catch you!"

She nearly said something snarky in response to his command, seeing as the drop was no small one and they'd probably _both _end up with broken bones if she did as he said. But then she saw the pistol in the hand of the angry man advancing on her and decided that a quick escape was really her only option. So after sucking in a breath for courage and squeezing her eyes shut, Lydia fell backwards from the balcony, putting all her faith and trust in the hope that Billy would catch her.

For a moment or two she heard and felt nothing by the air whistling past her rapidly descending form. Then, suddenly, something solid and warm was catching her, making her fall come to an abrupt stop. Lydia opened her eyes again only to find herself staring right into Billy's twinkling, blue-green ones.

"Got ya." He said with a wide smile, making Lydia's heart skip a beat.

The man was still yelling from his balcony up above and waving his gun around (though it didn't look like he actually planned to use it), so they came to the mutual, silent agreement that it was time to leave the area. Billy put Lydia back on her feet before grabbing her hand and breaking into a light jog, urging her along with him. Lydia, who rather liked the way her hand fit in his, willingly ran alongside him as they made their quick retreat, only taking one last look at the angry man behind them before they turned right into an alleyway and disappeared.

They ran until they couldn't hear the man yelling anymore, then slowed to a stop so they could lean against the wall of a building and catch their breath – not so far away, the music from the small band that had been performing in the tavern could be heard. Billy rested a hand against the brick wall as he panted for air while Lydia chose to lean her back against it, slumping some as she took her respite. They looked to each other after a moment before promptly dissolving into laughter, both finding the situation a little humorous now that they were out of harm's way.

"Is this going to be a common occurrence, me rescuing you from angry men?" Billy asked good-naturedly, still panting some.

Lydia just laughed and shrugged. "I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?" She shot back, making him grin in response.

They fell silent again, and it was in that moment that Lydia realized Billy was still holding her hand. She looked downward and gulped, warmth spreading up her arm as she registered the feel of his warm, calloused hand against her own softer, smaller one. When she looked back up at Billy, he too had noticed their joined hands. Lydia also couldn't help but noticed that he didn't seem bothered with it in the slightest.

After a moment he met her gaze again. The look in his eyes instantly took her back to that moment on the roof, when he'd been about to kiss her. In a way she was disappointed that their moment had been interrupted, but Lydia knew now that it was probably for the best – she was attracted to Billy and she liked him, but the fact of the matter was that they had only just met. Lydia wanted to get to know him better, wanted to be sure that Billy was as good of a man as he appeared to be before she allowed herself to become anymore invested in him than she already was.

"This has been lovely, but…I should go." Lydia told him regretfully, breaking the silence that had been stretching between them. "It's starting to get late."

Billy instantly looked disappointed, but didn't put up a protest. "I suppose you're right…" He conceded, though he still made no move to release her hand. "Where are you staying tonight?" He then asked, eyebrows stitching together some. "I'll see to it that you return safely."

Lydia almost told him that she was staying in the tavern, but decided against it. "Too personal." She joked as though they were still playing their question game, just so she wouldn't have to answer him. Not only was the tavern crawling with her uncle's spies, but Uncle Flint himself would be back on the island soon enough. She couldn't risk Billy popping in for a surprise visit at an inopportune time…then again, Lydia supposed it was very possible he might end up popping in _anyway_, seeing as the tavern was public domain and one of the only places in town to get a decent meal. She made a mental note to keep a sharp eye out for him for the rest of her stay, just in case.

Billy frowned down at her, clearly not happy with the idea of letting her continue on without him. Lydia just flashed him a reassuring smile. "It isn't far," she said, her tone more serious now, "I will be fine, I promise."

Billy finally nodded, albeit reluctantly so. After that they stood there in silence for a long few moments, as though neither knew what to say or do from that point forward. Lydia knew she couldn't risk lingering for much longer, especially not in the open like this where absolutely anyone could stumble upon them, but she just couldn't seem to walk away from Billy either. She didn't _want _to walk away from him. Lydia wanted to stay with him and keep talking and learn all that there was to know about him.

"Will I see you again?" He suddenly asked. It was the same question he had asked the first time they had parted ways, only this time it was said with much more hopefulness.

Lydia felt her stomach flip at the question, but outwardly she did her best to remain calm and collected. "Do you _want _to see me again?" She asked quietly, nervously, wanting – no, _needing_ – to hear him outright say it.

"I do," he answered without hesitation.

Lydia couldn't help but smile happily and blush, which made Billy smile as well. "Then yes," she answered, his response giving her the confidence that she had been looking for, "you will."

"When?" Billy countered eagerly, making her heart skip a beat with excitement.

Lydia thought hard for a moment, trying to think of a way that she and Billy could meet again, then was struck by an idea. "You haven't seen much of New Providence, have you?" Billy shook his head to confirm that he hadn't. With a smile, she said, "Then in two days' time, take the east road out of town. There's a little cove about three miles down – I will meet you at noon and show you the sights of the island." How exactly she would manage to get out of the house without rousing suspicion, she did not yet know – it was just something she'd have to figure out when the time came.

Billy seemed pleased with the plan, because he readily nodded his head in agreement. Then, without saying a word, he pushed away from wall and took a step toward her, leaving her with no choice but to crane her neck so she could meet his gaze. He was standing so close and the look in his eyes was just such that, for a moment, Lydia thought he might try to kiss her again. But instead he simply raised the hand he was still holding up to his lips, his movements slow and purposeful, before brushing a kiss against her knuckles. Lydia's breath caught in her throat, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the gentle gesture or the way his eyes were intently holding hers. Either way, her knees didn't feel so stable anymore and she was glad she was still leaning against the wall, otherwise she might have fallen over.

"Goodnight, my lady," he said in a low voice, "I look forward to our next meeting."

It took a moment for Lydia to grasp rational thought. "Goodnight," she said, hardly recognizing the foreign, breathy tone of her own voice.

They stared at each other for one more long, silent moment before Billy finally took a step backward so Lydia could take her leave. Though reluctant to go back to the tavern and sad to be saying goodbye to Billy, she knew that the time had come to part ways for now whether she liked it or not. Still holding onto Billy's large, warm hand, Lydia moved away from the wall and started to back away from him, sharing a small smile with him when he extended his arm with her movements in an attempt to hold onto her hand for as long as he could. Eventually, however, the distance between them became too great and her hand finally slipped from the warm safety of his.

A massive feeling of disappointment swept through her, but Lydia still somehow found it in her to turn on her heel and start heading in the direction of the tavern. She could feel Billy's eyes on her back as she walked down the street, making it difficult _not _to turn around and go running back to him. Lydia resisted though and forced her feet forward, hating every inch of space that grew between her and Billy as she did.

Just before Lydia was going to round the corner and turn down another side-road, she took a moment to pause and glance back at him – he was still standing in the spot that she had left him, watching her leave with a small smile on his face. Lydia raised a hand to wave goodbye, trying to memorize the way he looked in that moment so that it would give her something to cling to until their next meeting. After Billy returned the gesture, she finally turned the corner and continued on.

* * *

It felt like she floated back to her room in the tavern on a cloud. Consumed with thoughts of the handsome pirate she'd just spent some of her evening with, Lydia hardly even noticed anything or anyone around her as she navigated the streets of Nassau, reached the tavern, and then climbed up to the roof so she could sneak back into her room. She was much too busy thinking about the things she and Billy had talked about, remembering the way he'd looked and how it had felt when he held her hand, reminiscing on their near kiss…

With a long, wistful sigh, Lydia flopped onto her bed once she was back in her tiny room. The noise in the tavern below would have been loud and distracting had she been paying any attention, but at the moment she just couldn't bring herself to care. Unable to wipe the smile from her face – she was starting to feel like it might be permanent – Lydia turned onto her side so she could look at the stars in the night sky through her open window, lazily kicking of her shoes in the process. What had begun as just another ordinary day had ended up being something much more special – thank goodness she had been too impatient and excited to await her uncle's messenger, otherwise she would not have come to Nassau and would not have had the opportunity to spend time with Billy. Good fortune, it seemed, was working in Lydia's favor at the moment, something for which she thanked her lucky stars for. She just hoped now that it would _continue _to do so.

A knock on the door brought her thoughts to a halt and had her lifting her head. "Yes?" She called out.

There was a pause, then Joshua's muffled voice sounded through the wood of the door. "Just making sure you had not found a way to sneak out," he said.

Lydia smirked to herself, feeling rather triumphant – she had snuck out right from underneath Joshua and Gustav's noses and they had absolutely no idea. "No," she lied, "still here."

"Good." Joshua said with a hint of sternness. "Now get some sleep," he added authoritatively.

She snorted quietly in response to his command. "Yes, sir." Lydia said, mimicking her friend's strict tone.

Once she was sure Joshua had gone back to his post, Lydia slipped under the covers, actually feeling rather tired now that she thought about it. It had been an eventful day, what with her uncle returning, her trip to Nassau, and her meeting with Billy, and it was all finally starting to catch up to her.

Settling further into the bed, Lydia found a comfortable sleeping position and closed her eyes, breathing a long sigh of contentment. Yes, it had certainly been a good day. And just knowing what awaited her in only a few days' time made everything seem all the more better. She could hardly wait to see Billy again and see how their new relationship – whatever it was – would progress. Lydia didn't really know what to expect from this point on, didn't know if Billy would pursue her or what would might bloom from this connection they'd made, but she _did _know one thing…

The next two days were going to be the absolutely longest days of her life.

* * *

**Thoughts?!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, it's EXTREMELY hard to write Flint in a good light when I'm so UNBELIEVABLY ANGRY with him after that season finale. Really, Flint?! _REALLY_?! **

**Anyway [huff]…Once again, you guys are going above and beyond with all the amazing feedback. Words can't even express the level of appreciation I have for you wonderful readers! I'm terribly sorry for the wait this time around, I ran into a wee bit of writer's block. I'll try not to let this much time pass again!**

**That's enough from me, though. Enjoy! **

**P.S. Long chapter is long.**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing related to Black Sails. **

* * *

_Chapter Five_

When Lydia woke the next morning, it was to cheerfully chirping birds outside her window and the feel of the sun's warm rays on her face. She blinked her eyes a few times to clear the fog of sleep from them before stretching her body awake, sighing contentedly as her muscles loosened and her bones popped back into proper place. Deciding she wanted to laze in bed for a little while longer, Lydia turned onto her side so she could look out the window and appreciatively admire the cloudless, blue sky outside. It was another beautiful day in Nassau, and the bright, cheerful weather very much complimented the over-the-moon happiness that she was still feeling in light of her evening with Billy.

_Billy…_

The large smile that pulled at her lips was impossible to stop as his handsome, smiling face invaded her thoughts, much like it had invaded her _dreams _the entire night. She replayed their time together in her head, remembering everything that they had talked about and all the flattering things he'd said. Billy had been flirtatious and charming, but not inappropriately so, and overall seemed like he was just a genuinely decent (if not _slightly _mischievous) man, which was an _enormous _relief. She'd built up an image of him in her head in the days after their first meeting – so far, he was morethan living up to her expectations.

Lydia suddenly thought back to the kiss that had _almost _happened, feeling her face grow hot and her heart skip a few beats at the memory, before her thoughts soon shifted to that moment before they parted. Just thinking about the intensity that had burned in his gaze when he'd kissed her knuckles and remembering what it had felt like to have his lips on her skin made a warm feeling that she was rather unfamiliar with settle in the pit of her stomach.

Cheeks now burning bright red, Lydia grabbed her pillow and hid her face underneath it to muffle the giggle that welled up in her throat as the memory continued to swim around in her head. She didn't know what in the _world _this man was turning her into or how he could have this much of an effect on her so soon, but there was no denying that Billy had awoken something within that she had never felt before. It was new and it was exciting, but, at the same time, it was also a little bit scary – Lydia had absolutely no experience in this area, which in turn meant that she had no idea what in the _hell_ she was doing. But in spite of that, she was certainly eager to see where this new relationship would go. She liked Billy and clearly he liked her too. All Lydia could do now was wait to see how things progressed, starting with their next meeting.

Feeling chipper, a little bit love-struck, and ready to officially greet the day, Lydia finally threw off the covers and hopped out of bed. Once she'd freshened up in the basin and used the chamber pot, she made quick work of shaking out and re-braiding her long hair before pulling on her boots and heading for the door.

Lydia found Joshua and Gustav fast asleep in their same posts at the end of the hallway. Joshua was slouched down in his seat, his large, muscular arms crossed over his chest and his head hanging so low that his chin nearly touched his sternum. Gustav was snoring loudly, his curlicue mustache fluttering with every heavy exhale, and looked precariously close to falling sideways out of his seat. There was an empty bottle of rum in Gustav's hand, which was slowly slipping from his loose grasp and inching toward the floor.

Now she knew very well that she should take the high road and wake them up gently, like any normal, caring, kindhearted friend would. After all, the poor fellows had had to sacrifice their time and their plans to babysit her all night long, so they certainly deserved as much. But all that being said, considering how many times Joshua had scared the absolute piss out of her throughout the entirety of their friendship, Lydia thought that it was time for a little bit of very much deserved payback. She glanced toward Gustav, almostfeeling bad about the fact that he would also suffer from the surprise…_almost. _Seeing as the Frenchman was often the one encouraging Joshua's tricks, she decided in the end that he deserved what was coming to him, too.

Leaning down to carefully pluck the bottle from Gustav's lax fingertips, Lydia sucked in a breath before throwing it down onto the floor as hard as she could. The glass bottle shattered against the floor with an ear-splitting _CRASH_, and that combined with Lydia's loud shout of, "_WAKE UP!"_ was more than enough to startle the two pirates into consciousness.

Joshua and Gustav both moved faster than she'd ever seen anyonemove in her entire life. One minute they were sleeping like babes and oblivious to the fact that Lydia was even present, the next they were jumping out of their seats and falling all over themselves and each other, hands grappling for their weapons purely out of some instinctual habit. Lydia watched in amusement as they scrambled around for another moment until both men finally froze and looked toward her – both had similar, wide-eyed expressions on their faces, which both promptly melted into annoyance when they realized there was no trouble afoot after all.

"_Merde, _Lydia!" Gustav swore at her in French, roughly sheathing the sword he'd just drawn. "We could 'ave _killed _you!"

Lydia just smiled at them sweetly, knowing they would have never done such a thing. "Good morning, my friends!" She said in a very sprightly tone, choosing not to acknowledge Gustav's outburst. "Sleep well?"

While Gustav grumbled something in French underneath his breath and went to start rummaging around on the nearby tables for more drink, evidently in need of it to recover from his rude awakening, Joshua sheathed his own weapon and pinned her with a look. "We _were  
_sleeping well…" He shot at her pointedly. When Lydia just continued to smile at him, feeling rather pleased with herself, the dark-skinned pirate lifted a brow and gave her a critical once over. "And what has _you _in such good spirits this morning?" He asked, his tone full of suspicion. "Is there something I should know?"

The question made her think of Billy, which in turn just made her smile grow wider. But instead of telling her friend the truth – that she was in such a good mood because she was currently in the process of being swept off her feet by a very handsome, very charming pirate – Lydia just shrugged a shoulder and strolled toward him. "The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and we, my friend, are young and _alive_," she said in an uplifting tone, moving to sling an arm around his shoulder. "If that is not reason enough to be joyful, then I'm afraid I do not know what is."

Joshua looked down at her from the corner of his eye, still looking every bit of skeptical. There was a long moment of silence, then he said very matter-of-factly, "You are up to something."

Clearly he wasn't buying her charade. He simply knew her too well by now to _not _be able to tell when she wasn't being totally honest with him. With a small heave of exasperation and a roll of her eyes, Lydia released Joshua from her one-armed embrace so she could place her hands on her hips. "The amount of trust you have in me is absolutely _astounding_, my friend," she stated sarcastically, even though the man did have every right to be suspicious – if the roles were reversed, she doubted she'd trust herself very much either.

Joshua said nothing in return, just lifted a brow at her and shot her a deliberate look. Deciding to the change the subject before he started prying any further, Lydia clapped her hands together. "I'm starved," she announced, her stomach rumbling a moment later as though proving the truth of her words. "Shall we have breakfast?"

"_Oui_." Gustav immediately agreed, reappearing by Lydia's side in the blink of an eye at the mention of food.

While she and Joshua had been talking, the French pirate had managed to locate an abandoned, half-full bottle of rum on one of the nearby tables. Lydia watched as he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a few generous gulps. Gustav swallowed the alcohol loudly and then pulled a bit of a face, shaking himself a bit as the strong drink settled in his belly. When he finally noticed that Lydia and Joshua were both watching him in silence, he frowned at them and held a hand up questioningly.

"What?" He asked, clearly not seeing any problem with the fact that he was drinking before breakfast.

Lydia just snorted to herself and then shook her head amusedly. "Nothing, Gustav," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and directing him toward the stairs. "Let's get some food in you before you get drunk again."

Gustav allowed her to guide him, but still shot her a cheeky grin over his shoulders as she began ushering him down the flight of stairs that would take them to the bottom level. "Who said I was sober in ze first place?" Gustav asked before raising the bottle to his lips again and taking another long, exaggerated drink.

Lydia chuckled in response, then laughed harder when the man missed a step and nearly went tumbling head-first down the rest of the steps – luckily he was quick enough to catch himself on the bannister before anything catastrophic could happen. After righting himself again and loudly reassuring anyone paying attention down below that he was fine, he took another drink and continued on down the stairs.

A still-snickering Lydia followed after him, while Joshua trailed closely behind her. As they reached the bottom floor and headed toward the bar, she found herself doing a quick sweep of the room – there were a number of men in various parts of the room, some still snoring in their drunken slumber while others were enjoying their morning meals. _Not _among the crowd, Lydia was both relieved and somewhat disappointed to notice, was the man that she already longed to see; Billy. There was no sign of him anywhere in the tavern, which was probably a good thing but still made her happiness deflate a notch.

Gustav had already claimed a table near the bar, so Lydia went to join him while Joshua volunteered to go order their breakfast from a squirrely looking man tending to the bar. It wasn't much longer before the three of them were digging into three somewhat bland, but still filling, bowls of porridge. Gustav chose to wash his food down with rum, while Lydia and Joshua opted for water.

The tavern began filling up soon enough, which wasn't a surprise seeing as it was, hands down, the busiest establishment in Nassau. Shopkeepers and pirates alike, some of whom were _Walrus_ crewmen, started filing into the building as the rest of the town began to wake and go about their day. Though Lydia never fully turned her attention away from the casual, amiable conversation she, Joshua, and Gustav were having, her eyes did survey the room from time to time, checking around to make sure Billy hadn't snuck in without her noticing (which probably wasn't likely since he sort of stuck out in a crowd, but it was better to be safe than sorry). Now that it was getting a little later into morning time, there were a lot more familiar faces in the crowd – if he were to turn up right now with this many of her uncle's crew around, things would get, well…_interesting_. And not in a good way.

Just as they were finishing their meals, Ms. Guthrie and Mr. Scott emerged from a back room, already looking as though they were discussing serious business despite the fact that the day had barely even begun. Lydia watched the two finish up their conversation before they headed in separate directions – Mr. Scott headed for the door while the young, blonde-haired Eleanor Guthrie began weaving her way through the crowd, slowly maneuvering toward the bar while collecting dirty dishes from any unoccupied tables in the process.

Lydia glanced down at the now empty bowls on their table before looking toward Ms. Guthrie again. Thinking it would only be polite of her to go thank the woman for her hospitality, she started rounding up the dirty porridge bowls before pushing back from her chair and getting to her feet. Joshua and Gustav both looked up at her alertly when she did this, but before they could stand she held a hand up to stop them.

"Relax, I'm only going to speak with Ms. Guthrie," Lydia reassured her friends, nodding in the direction of the woman in question.

Joshua looked toward the woman before nodding slowly, though he did not relax in his seat again. "Stay in sight," the pirate commanded in a stern voice, eyeing the crowd around them a bit untrustingly.

Lydia almost rolled her eyes, but managed to resist the urge. "Yes, _father_," she quipped dryly before leaving the table and starting toward Ms. Guthrie. She didn't bother glancing back, but no doubt Joshua and Gustav were watching her like a hawk as she went traipsing into the crowd of dirty, smelly pirates, both to make sure she_ – _or anyone _else_ – didn't get any ideas about trying anything.

She made her way through the morning rush of tavern patrons, stepping around still snoozing pirates and ducking past those that, like Gustav, had decided to have rum with their breakfast and were already starting to get loud. She finally made it to Ms. Guthrie just as the woman was rounding up an armful of dirty ale mugs.

"Good morning, Ms. Guthrie," Lydia greeted with a friendly smile.

Ms. Guthrie looked up then offered a rare, polite smile. "Good morning, Miss Cornish," she replied, her tone courteous and formal. "I thought I heard a bit of commotion upstairs not long ago," she continued, a shrewd gleam appearing in her blue-eyed gaze. Lydia, knowing the woman was referring to her unorthodox method for waking up Joshua and Gustav, pressed her lips together innocently. "Do I even _want _to fucking know?" She asked with a sigh.

The woman's profanity didn't surprise Lydia. Not only had she heard _much _worse from her uncle's crewmen, but she'd discovered very quickly upon meeting Ms. Guthrie that the blonde was very fond of the word 'fuck'. By now, curse words and colorful profanity no longer phased her, even if coming from the mouth of a woman. "It was nothing, I promise," Lydia quickly reassured her, wanting to avoid annoying the powerful woman if she could, "Just…keeping my bodyguards on their toes."

Ms. Guthrie silently stared her down for a moment, as though trying to discern if she were lying. "Alright then," she eventually said, before taking the dishes she'd already rounded up and starting for the bar. With a small jerk of her head, she motioned Lydia to follow her. "I trust your stay was a pleasant one, then?" She asked, her voice taking on its previous courteous tone as they went along.

"It has been, yes." Lydia confirmed as she trailed after the older woman, finding herself unconsciously collecting any used bowls or mugs along the way to try to help Ms. Guthrie with her task. "Thank you again for allowing me to sleep here last night," Lydia continued, "It was very – " What was the word her uncle had used again? " – _gracious_ of you." She finished, her smile pleasant and friendly.

Ms. Guthrie snorted a bit and quirked a brow at her. "Well, it wasn't as if your uncle gave me much choice in the matter," the blonde-haired woman said with a pointed look. "What Flint wants, Flint gets. Everyone in Nassau knows that, including myself."

It was hard to tell if the tone in her voice was annoyance or resignation. Ms. Guthrie was certainly no pushover – just ask any of the number of men who's pirating career she had destroyed because they'd crossed her – but Lydia had noticed that her Uncle Flint _did _seem to have a bit more sway over the woman's decision making than others. More than likely it was because he had been the top earner for the Guthrie's since arriving in Nassau and was not someone they wished to have as an enemy. But, on top of that, Flint was nothing is not persistent. It was the truth when she said that the pirate captain always got what he wanted – even the stubborn, hard-nosed Eleanor Guthrie had come to accept that over the years, even _if_ it had been with a great deal of reluctance.

"True, my uncle can be very…_insistent_…when it comes to something he wants done," Lydia admitted with a small shrug, knowing all too well just how pushy her uncle could really be, "But do not doubt the truth of my words when I say that he has a great deal of respect for you," she continued in a reassuring tone. "The matter of my safety is not a subject that my uncle takes lightly, Ms. Guthrie, as you well know. If he demanded you allow me to stay here, I assure you it was not to exert his power over you or anything of that sort – it was only because he _trusts_ you and knew no harm would come to me under your watch."

To Lydia's satisfaction, Ms. Guthrie seemed placated by her words. If she _had _been annoyed with Flint for forcing Lydia into her protection, she didn't appear to be any longer. She said nothing in response to Lydia's words, however, merely gave a tiny inclination of her head to signal that she had understood and appreciated what had been said before moving back behind the bar to drop all the dirty dishes in her arms into a barrel of water for washing. After a moment she turned back to Lydia, who was lingering by the side of the bar with a number of dirty dishes in her grasp – it was only then that Ms. Guthrie seemed to notice that Lydia, without having to be asked, had been helping her round up used mugs and bowls from the previous night.

"Thank you," Ms. Guthrie said in a rare expression of gratitude, moving closer so she could retrieve the dishes from Lydia's grasp. "Hell," she continued, eyebrow lifting wryly, "you don't even _work _for me and you're already a better employee than half the men on my staff. I should just fire them and keep _you _on instead."

Lydia knew very well that Ms. Guthrie wasn't being serious, but she couldn't help but take a moment to wonder what it would be like to work in Ms. Guthrie's tavern. Lydia quickly decided that it would actually probably be rather fun – she knew how to handle rowdy pirates, so that wouldn't be a problem, and there would certainly be no shortage of entertainment. Not to mention that a job like that would result in her being in Nassau on a more frequent basis, which meant getting out of the boring countryside, more time near the port, and – best of all – more opportunities to see Billy. Plus she'd have her _own _money in her own pocket, not just the allowance that Uncle Flint gave to her whenever he saw fit to do so.

The idea of working in the tavern had never once crossed her mind before, but now it certainly felt as though a seed had just been planted. The more she thought about it, the better it sounded.

Lydia went to grab a chair on the customer side of the bar, raising her eyebrows at Ms. Guthrie as the woman rolled the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows and began cleaning dishes. "You _could_ you know," she prompted, leaning her elbows against the bar. "Hire me, that is."

Ms. Guthrie's immediate reaction was to snort and shoot Lydia a disbelieving look. "You're joking, right?" When Lydia just shrugged, Mr. Guthrie quirked a brow. "Respect for me or no, Flint would _murder _me if I employed you to work around a bunch of drunken, lecherous animals." A few pirates standing nearby that had overheard the conversation immediately looked affronted by the blonde's choice of description. Ms. Guthrie just shot them a look as though saying, _You know it's true_, then watched as they walked away from the bar, grumbling to themselves. "Anyway," she continued, returning her attention to Lydia, "even if Flint _did _allow it, I still couldn't hire you from a business standpoint."

Lydia's eyebrows furrowed together. "Why not?" She asked curiously. "I can handle myself around pirates, I'd work hard, and I wouldn't complain. What more could you ask for in an employee?"

"I have no doubt that you're speaking the truth," Ms. Guthrie countered in a patient tone, "but that does not change the fact that your uncle is Captain James Flint," she continued matter-of-factly, as though this was something Lydia needed to be reminded of. "He's already the top earner in Nassau, which is cause enough for jealousy and competition. If I were to take _you_, his beloved niece, on as one of my employees, people in these parts may start to believe I'm playing favorites with the Flints and that he's more privy to information than others, which could cause very serious problems for me. Do you understand?"

Lydia _did _understand…but seeing as most people were already too busy whispering behind their hands about Ms. Guthrie's not-so-secret relationship with Charles Vane – and speculating about what sort of information that made _him _privy to – she didn't think anyone would bat an eyelash if she were to start working at the tavern. Well, nobody but her _uncle, _anyway. Ms. Guthrie was right about that one – Uncle Flint would, in no way, shape, or form, _ever _approve of Lydia working in a tavern. He'd sooner throttle her than allow her to become a tavern wench. And as for her _mother_, well…she'd probably help him do it.

"I suppose you're right," Lydia conceded.

"You're damn well right, I am," Ms. Guthrie agreed with a note of finality.

Lydia started to say something else, but paused when she noticed that she no longer had Ms. Guthrie's attention. The older woman's gaze had suddenly shifted to peer at something over Lydia's shoulder, the authoritative expression on her features shifting to a look Lydia couldn't quite place. Curiosity getting the better of her, Lydia frowned in confusion before turning to see what was so interesting. What – or rather _who _– she saw stepping through the crowd made her immediately press her lips together and face forward again, mentally preparing herself for what was about to come.

"Well, well, well…" A deep, gravelly male voice sounded in her ears only moments later. "If it ain't the _great_," this word was said with no small amount of venom, "Captain Flint's oh so precious niece."

Lydia, a mask of indifference firmly in place on her features, looked over at the lithe, tanned, long-haired pirate that was now leaning casually against the bar next to her. Charles Vane. He smelled faintly of rum and even more strongly of the sea, but there was a hint of something floral lurking there as well, as though he'd spent all night cuddled up to something much better smelling than himself. She could only guess _that _was thanks to the blonde woman currently looking back and forth between them with alert eyes, knowing that if Lydia and Vane were in the same vicinity that it could only mean trouble.

"Well, well, well…" Lydia echoed his words, her tone neutral but her eyes plainly stating her dislike. "If it isn't Captain Charles Vane." Then she gave him a critical once over, an eyebrow lifting sarcastically when she saw his wide smirk. "You seem to be in a good mood today – has your crew been terrorizing the locals again?" She couldn't help but ask in a snide tone.

To put it frankly, Lydia did _not _like Charles Vane. Not only was he a ruthless, vicious man with an even more malicious crew at his beck and call, but he was also a _very _large thorn in the side of _anyone _of the Flint line. Constantly he was trying to thwart and disrupt her uncle's plans, always competing for the spot of top earner in Nassau. The man was eager to see Flint fall from grace and was willing to stoop to any level, no matter how low it was, to personally see to it himself that it happened. On top of that, Vane also had grown rather fond of bullying Lydia around whenever he got the chance, knowing very well how much Flint loved and cherished her and knowing that if there was a surefire way to get under the man's skin, then terrorizing _her _was certainly it.

"It's not often I find you wandering about Nassau alone," Vane said with a smirk, ignoring her catty question. "Flint finally so fit to free you from your playpen, did he?"

Lydia's eyes narrowed some before she took a pointed look around. "I could say the same for you," she said, noting the fact that he'd arrived _without _his usual companions; Jack Rackham, his quartermaster, and Anne Bonny, feared female pirate extraordinaire and Rackham's lover. "Finally felt _man _enough to leave your guard-dogs at home? Thought you could do your dirty work _yourself _for a change?" She taunted, trying to be as insulting to the man as she could.

Ms. Guthrie made a small noise of warning that Lydia ignored, hazel-green eyes staying locked on the pirate captain before her to gauge his reaction. For a second she thought she saw something flash through his blue eyed gaze, but he quickly hid it and only smirked a bit wider. "Quite strong words for a young lady," he mused aloud, though she couldn't tell if was more amused or annoyed. "Whatever would your beloved Uncle Flint say if he knew you said such things to others?"

Lydia smiled at him in return. "Why, given the circumstances I do believe he'd be rather proud of me," she assured him confidently, even though, in actuality, she was sure he wouldn't approve of her getting into a war of wits with Charles Vane. Lydia could just imagine the disapproving look and lecture that she'd receive whenever Uncle Flint learned of this altercation, as there was no doubt that he _would_ hear of it.

"Such loathing…." He said with a click of his tongue. "Tell me something, girl," Vane continued, quirking a condescending brow at her, "do you even know _why _you dislike me? Or is it only because you do whatever your _master _tells you to?"

"Charles – " Ms. Guthrie said quietly, trying to diffuse the growing tension around the two. Vane, however, only waved her off with a dismissive hand, his expectant eyes never once turning away from Lydia.

That question and the tone of his voice most certainly grated on her nerves, but Lydia kept her composure in front of the pirate. "As a matter of fact, I know _precisely _why I don't like you, Captain Vane," she informed him steadily. "You're cruel, vindictive, and insufferably arrogant. _And _you're annoying to boot."

Vane chuckled humorlessly. "Funny," he said with a meaningful gleam in his eyes, "those are the precise words I'd use to describe James Flint."

Lydia couldn't help the slight stiffening of her spine. "My uncle, unlike yourself, is a man of honor and integrity," she said as steadily as she could, quickly coming to Flint's defense.

"Is that right?" Vane asked, feigning astonishment at hearing this. "I'm beginning to believe that the Flint _you _know and the Flint _everyone else_ knows – myself included – are two horses of very different colors."

If he was trying to fill her head with doubts about her uncle's character, it wasn't going to work. Not appreciating that he was talking bad about someone she cared deeply for, Lydia turned in her chair to face Vane more fully, eyes narrowing as they remained locked on his.

"Do you know where my uncle is right now?" She asked, tilting her head curiously. When Vane said nothing, she continued. "He's on the mainland, meeting with Mr. Guthrie at personal request," she informed him matter-of-factly, enjoying the momentary surprise that flashed through his eyes – Ms. Guthrie was still trying to gain their attention, but again she was ignored. "Perhaps if you spent _less _time obsessing over Flint and taunting young women for sport, it would be _you _meeting with Mr. Guthrie in place of him. But as it is, _you're _here and _Flint _is there…you can talk ill of him all you wish, but at the end of the day, the fact will always remain that you aren't _half _the captain _he _is, and everyone in the West Indies knows that." Vane was starting to seethe, but Lydia wasn't quite done yet. She offered a sweet smile before delivering her last blow. "So tell me something, Captain Vane," she said, echoing his words, her tone pure innocence, "How does it feel to know you'll always be second best to my uncle?"

Lydia had definitely struck a nerve, because every muscle in Vane's body stiffened and he instantly looked murderous. With a sound of anger made low in his throat, Vane pushed away from the bar and took a threatening step toward her, reaching a hand in her direction as though intending to grab hold of her.

"That's quite enough." A new, authoritative voice suddenly spoke up, stopping Vane in his tracks.

Lydia had been so focused on the man she was verbally sparring with that she hadn't been paying very much attention to anything else going on around her. Glancing around now, she not only saw that their little altercation had drawn a bit of a crowd, but also that there had been two new arrivals to the tavern sometime in the past five minutes. Uncle Flint, spine rigid as a board and eyes narrowed with anger, was standing some ten feet away and glaring daggers at the rival captain now taking a slow step away from her. Next to him stood Gates, arms crossed over his chest, also glowering at a now alert Charles Vane.

Lydia gulped at the sight of her angry uncle while the rest of the tavern suddenly fell very quiet, the eyes of the men around them darting back and forth between the two enemies, waiting to see what would unfold. She didn't know how much her uncle had heard, but certainly hoped it hadn't been much – Lydia hardly thought he'd be pleased if he knew she'd been just as active a participant in this verbal spat as Vane was.

Flint glanced surreptitiously in Lydia's direction before returning his attention to the long-haired pirate, a muscle in his jaw twitching some. "Joshua, Gustav," he suddenly barked. Lydia nearly jumped out of her skin when a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder from behind – it seemed Joshua and Gustav had seen Vane approach her and had thought it wise to move in closer in case they needed to intervene, though Lydia had been so busy insulting her uncle's nemesis that she hadn't noticed their presence until now. "Please escort my niece outside," Flint commanded in a steady voice. "I need to have a few words with Captain Vane."

The hand on her shoulder pressed forward, leaving Lydia with no choice but to get out of her seat and start for the door. She hesitated just before she brushed past Flint, taking a moment to look up at him to try to determine whether he was angry with _her _or not, but he only barely met her gaze before nodding stiffly toward the door. Lydia continued on, her shoulders slumping some, and didn't stop again until she was standing out in the morning sunshine.

It should have been a relief to get out of the stuffy tavern and into the fresh air outside, but Lydia could only cross her arms over her chest and heave heavily to herself, irritated with Vane for ruining her otherwise pleasant morning but also feeling a little apprehensive of her uncle, as she was uncertain whether some of the burning anger she'd seen in his gaze was reserved for her as well. Shaking off Gustav's hand, Lydia went to lean against a nearby post, frowning and carefully avoiding the gazes of her friends. The two pirates shared a glance before Gustav heaved and came to stand in front of her, while Joshua chose to linger by the door so he could peer inside, keeping watch on whatever was going on between Flint and Vane. After a few moments, when the feel of her friend's stare started to feel a little unnerving, Lydia finally met Gustav's gaze.

"What?" She asked defensively when she saw his raised brows. "_Vane_ was the one who started it," she then pointed out a bit childishly.

Gustav just rolled his eyes, muttered something about '_the stubbornness of Flints_' under his breath, then went to plop himself ungracefully on the steps of the tavern to await the captain. Lydia frowned at him for a moment before turning her gaze elsewhere again, any remnants of the happy, bubbly mood that she'd been in ever since the previous night rapidly disappearing.

_So much for having a good day,_ Lydia thought sourly to herself, before settling further against the post to await her uncle and whatever wrath he might bring with him.

It was only a handful of minutes before Flint reemerged from the tavern with Gates just behind him, his features set in a hard expression and his eyes still bright with anger. Lydia, Joshua, and Gustav all immediately stood to attention at seeing him, but the pirate captain only seemed concerned with his niece at the moment. He stared long and hard at Lydia, the look in his green colored eyes plainly stating that they needed to have a very serious conversation, before brushing past his crewmen and heading out into the street.

"Come," he ordered without turning to look at anyone in particular.

Lydia knew without having to be told that he was talking to her. Sending one last helpless look toward Gates and her friends, who were all watching her with varying expressions of concern or (in Gates' case) sympathy, she turned to quickly follow after her uncle. Once Lydia had fallen into step with Flint she timidly tried to meet his gaze again, but he just stared straight ahead, refusing to look down at her.

Lydia released a small sigh of resignation. It was quite obvious by his behavior that it wasn't just Vane he was angry with. "Uncle – " She started to say, wanting to try to smooth things over if she could. She'd always hated it when Uncle Flint was angry with her – it always made her feel like she'd failed him in some way.

"Not now," Flint interrupted, making her abruptly fall silent and press her lips together. "We will speak once we are on the road."

There was no room for argument, so Lydia nodded once. "Yes, sir," she said obediently, before silently following him.

* * *

After collecting the horse, feeding it, and preparing it for the journey to come, Lydia and Flint were back on the road and galloping toward their house inland, Flint sitting in the front of the saddle and steering the large horse while Lydia sat behind him, arms wrapped securely around his waist so she wouldn't fall off. The first few miles went by without a word spoken between the two, but after a while Flint finally pulled on the reigns to slow the steed to a halt before instructing Lydia to dismount. She did so and he quickly followed her suit, taking the horse's reigns in hand so he could lead it before carrying on by foot. Lydia, knowing this meant Uncle Flint was ready to talk, mentally braced herself for whatever was about to come and fell into step with him again.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound around them that of the horse's snorts and the chirp of insects in the surrounding foliage. Though the silence that had been stretching between them since they left the tavern was positively unbearable by this point, Lydia didn't dare say anything. There was a pensive look on her uncle's face that hinted he was deep in thought, as though he were wading through a multitude of thoughts and emotions currently circulating his mind in search of the proper words to lecture her with. Finally, he spoke.

"I am not pleased with the way I heard you speaking to Captain Vane," Flint stated with a disapproving look, evidently deciding it best to just be blunt with her. "He is a dangerous man, Lydia, one that does not need much provocation to act violently, especially so where a Flint is concerned. Had you not been protected in the tavern, there's no telling what sort of beating he might have given you for the things you said."

Since Lydia was only a few inches shorter than Flint, their eyes were nearly level when she turned her head to meet his unhappy gaze. "He was insulting you, uncle," she told him, defending her actions at once. "If you expect me to stand idly by and let a man like that speak ill of you and tarnish your name, then you do not know me very well."

Flint released a heave turned his eyes forward again. "I assure you that Vane is not the first man to speak badly of me, nor will he be the last. Admirable of you as it is to defend my name and my reputation," he continued begrudgingly, shooting her a sideways look, "you need to remember that you are a young lady. It is not your responsibility to fight any battles for me, nor is it proper for you to immediately start hurling out insults the moment someone says something about me that you do not like," Flint went on to reprimand sternly.

"And what if I _want _to fight battles for you, uncle? What of that?" Lydia countered swiftly, making him look over at her sharply. "How many battles have _you _fought for me and mother? How many times have you put yourself at risk for us?" She questioned him, determined to make him see things from her point of view. "You may not be my father by blood, but a father to me you are nonetheless and I love you just the same. The _least_ I can do is defend you when some imbecile starts spouting out lies about your character."

She thought she spied a proud look in his eye for a moment, but he looked away and quickly put his guard back up before she could be certain she wasn't just imagining things. "It is different, Lydia, and you know that. I am the patriarch of this family now, which means it is _my_ duty to do all the dirty work, not yours."

He sighed before continuing on. "You overestimate the amount of patience the men around here have for a woman like you," Flint told her matter-of-factly making her frown at him – what did he mean, _women like her_? "You have spirit, dear niece," he clarified, "which is both a blessing and very likely to get you into a good deal of trouble. Men like Charles Vane do not take kindly to women talking down to them, and trust when I say that most would not show as much restraint as Vane did today should you decide you wanted to emasculate _them _in front of an entire crowd of people –" Lydia started to remind him that the fear he instilled in those around him meant she was practically untouchable, but as though reading her mind, Flint pointedly added, "– no matter _who _you might be related to."

Lydia couldn't deny that he made a fair point – Flint, and her father before him, might have done his very best to shield her from the horrors of the outside world, but she had still seen what some of the morally inept men of both Nassau _and _Havana were capable of when provoked. No doubt if she got on the bad side of the wrong man, even her blood ties to James Flint wouldn't save her neck. But that being said, it still went against everything in her to stand silently by while the scum of the earth went around shouting insults about herself or those she cared about. Perhaps it was just the fire of the Flints in her blood driving her again, but Lydia would rather make a thousand enemies defending the ones she loved than make one ally because she'd allowed some no-good bastard like Vane to trample all over her.

"Uncle, are you not the one always telling me to stand up for myself and for what I believe in, to not let _anyone_ – no matter how powerful or threatening they may be – walk over me as though I were naught but a doormat?" She asked him knowingly.

Flint very much looked as though he were mentally cursing himself for having inadvertently provided her this bit of ammunition. "Yes, but not at the expense of your own safety." He said hastily.

Lydia frowned crossly. "So I am only to stand in the face of cruelty and injustice when it would benefit me most, then, is that it?" She questioned unhappily. "You would see me run like a coward the moment I met a bit of adversity? Where, pray tell, is the honor in that?"

Sensing that she was starting to turn the tables on him, Flint suddenly wrapped a hand around her elbow and pulled her to a halt, pinning her into place with a stern look.

"Listen to me," he told her firmly, "you are still young and inexperienced and naïve to the workings of the outside world." Lydia started to adamantly argue that she was _not _naïve, but Flint continued on before she had the chance. "I was there once myself. When I was your age I cared only for fighting, drinking, and getting my hands on any woman that would allow me to. My mouth and my temper got me into more trouble than you can imagine, and earned me more bruises and broken bones than I could possibly count." He paused for a quick moment, raising his brows at her as he peered directly into her eyes. For a moment, his gaze softened. "I will not fault you for wanting to defend yourself – in truth, it makes me a proud man to see how strong of a woman you have grown to be." The stern glare was back in his eyes in a heartbeat. "But you _must _remember who you are and you _must _learn how to be the bigger person and walk away."

When Lydia said nothing, merely took a moment to think his words over, Flint spoke again. "Have you any idea how many enemies I have? How many men would jump at the opportunity to use you against me if given the chance?" He asked pointedly. "You have been safe in Nassau this long because I have allies willing to help me keep you protected. But if you go around insulting and picking fights with every man that talks down to you, that protection will only be able to do so much. You need to be _careful_, Lydie," he urged, using the nickname that only her family members had ever referred to her by, "I will not always be there to help you out of a tough situation, nor will my crew."

It was the genuine, fearful concern in her uncle's gaze that finally made the fight in Lydia begin to die. She knew then that he wasn't lecturing her because he was angry with her, no – he was lecturing because he was _worried _about her, afraid to see what might happen if she was not able to learn to hold her tongue. With a heavy sigh, Lydia turned her gaze away to stare absently at a nearby tree. Finally, after a moment or two, she met Flint's imploring stare once again.

"You are right," she finally conceded, humbly admitting defeat, "I have been underestimating those around me and behaving recklessly." Flint looked relieved to hear that he had gotten through to her. "That does not mean I am sorry for the things I said to Vane, because he damn well deserved it," she added pointedly, making Flint sigh "…but," Lydia continued after a moment of pause, "I _am _sorry for causing you worry and promise that next time – and trust that there _will _be a next time, uncle, because we both know Vane and any man like him will always be a problem – I will go about it much more rationally."

Flint looked satisfied enough with her answer, for he nodded before ruffling the hair on the top of her head and then affectionately patting her cheek. "I am most relieved to hear it," he told her earnestly, looking to her with fond, approving eyes now.

And just like that, the tension between them vanished like a wisp of smoke blowing away with the wind. Flint motioned her forward with a bob of his head and they continued on, this time with a much more comfortable, companionable aura around them. As they walked along at a leisurely pace, Flint still leading their large horse by the reigns, Lydia couldn't help but look at him questioningly.

"Was Ms. Guthrie angry?" She asked, now a bit concerned that she might have upset the woman and caused a rift between Flint and the powerful woman by insulting the man she was currently involved with.

Flint pulled a bit of a face. "She wasn't _overly _pleased with the incident. After all, she and Captain Vane..." He trailed off and waved a hand, as though trying to describe the nature of their relationship as delicately as he could. When she nodded her understanding, he continued. "Anyway, she was not thrilled with the scene you two made in her tavern, nor was she very happy with what either of us had to say to him. But seeing as Vane was as much at fault as anyone else, Ms. Guthrie was willing enough to forgive, though I would not quite count on her forgetting just yet. She likes you well enough, but you would be wise to tread carefully around her for the foreseeable future," he suggested. "And Vane, for that matter," he added as an afterthought.

Lydia nodded in understanding. "What exactly _did_ you say to Vane after I left?" She had to ask, her curiosity winning out.

Flint suddenly smirked in a rather disconcerting way, the gleam in his eye making her question his sanity for a small moment in time. "I told him that if he ever made a threatening move toward you again that I would chop off all of his appendages and feed them to the sharks, starting with his, well…" He trailed off again and sent her a meaningful look, trying to silently make her understand what he was saying.

"Cock?" Lydia offered with a smirk, recalling the not so proper word for the male anatomy that she'd heard _Walrus _crewmen use on a quite frequent basis.

Flint's frown was immediate. "Language," he scolded, making her apologize despite having to fight back a smile of amusement. "But yes, starting with that," he confirmed a few seconds later. Then he frowned deeper. "I really should stop letting you spend so much time around the crew," he mused, sounding more as though he were speaking to himself than to her, "I fear they're beginning to have a bad influence on you."

"Nonsense," Lydia dismissed, making him look at her with skeptical, albeit amused, half-smile. "Enough talk of Vane," she continued. "What did Mr. Guthrie want?"

Flint waved her question off with a small shake of his head. "Nothing you need worry yourself over," he answered vaguely. Before Lydia could begin to wonder if his reluctance to tell her meant something bad, he was speaking again. "Tell me what has been happening here in my absence," he urged, "I seem to recall you mentioning a young man you had to '_teach manners to_' while I was gone – care to elaborate now?"

So much had happened in the past day or so that she'd nearly forgotten about Joffrey and his advances entirely. Lydia rolled her eyes at the memory and then immediately launched into the story of her and Margaret's evening at Mr. Hampstead's. Flint listened intently as she recounted the events of the night, looking unperturbed until she told him of her would-be suitor's inappropriate behavior and language the moment he got her alone. The pirate captain looked positively furious when Lydia repeated the things Joffrey had said and told him of the way he'd tried to touch her, but as soon as he heard how she'd handled the situation, he puffed his chest, looking enormously proud of her.

"Serves the cad right – you should have broken his wrist," Flint said haughtily. Then he looked over at her with a slightly triumphant look in his green eyes, as though he were internally gloating over something. "I tried to tell your mother that it was not a good idea," he said matter-of-factly. "She should have listened to me."

Lydia froze for a second, then looked to her uncle in incredulous disbelief. "You _knew _she was going to introduce me to Joffrey?"

Flint suddenly looked a mite bit guilty. "She might have brought it to my attention before I left…" He admitted slowly. Unsure whether she should feel betrayed or not, Lydia huffed and resumed her pace, frowning grumpily at Flint. "I did not condone it," he defended himself. "In fact, I avidly expressed my opposition to it."

"Yet it still happened," Lydia pointed out.

"Well, I was not there to interfere, now was I?" Flint asked in rebuttal, suddenly making her wonder just how many times he _had _interfered with her mother's matchmaking attempts without her even knowing it. "Which is, I believe, exactly how your mother planned it."

Lydia sighed and turned her eyes forward, staring down the expanse of the long dirt path that lay before them. "She is determined to marry me off," she said disdainfully, shoulder slumping with helplessness. "I have told her repeatedly I do not want to be married yet. Why does she continue to try to force me into a life that I do not desire?" Lydia asked her uncle, hoping he might have a little insight to the inner workings of his sister's mind.

Flint sighed as well and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It is only because she wants what is best for you, Lydia," he told her gently. "Margaret wants you to be happy and wants you to have a secure future. Marrying you off to a young man of promise is the only way she can think of to see that through."

Lydia frowned and shook her head. "Seems rather hypocritical, given the fact that when _her _mother tried to do the same she threw all propriety to the wind, eloped with my father, then fled England the first chance she got," she recounted with a note of sourness.

"Yes, and look where it left her," Flint pointed out knowingly, "disowned by our parents with hardly any money to her name and confined to a way of life on the other side of the world that neither of us was ever brought up to live." Well…she'd never thought of it like _that_. Flint squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. "Do not misunderstand me, for your mother loved your father with every fiber of her being," he made sure to clarify, "but for as grand as love is, unfortunately it alone does not pay for a home or put food in your belly. I see why you would think her actions hypocritical," he acknowledged, "but it is only because she wants something _better _for you than what she had for herself."

What Flint was saying actually made a great deal of sense, but Lydia still shook her head. "But she married for _love_, not money or convenience," she reminded him. "And if given the choice, I'd much rather be penniless and married to a man I'm in love with than rich and forever bound to someone I care nothing for."

That proud look had reentered Flint's gaze. "And that is very admirable, but it is also precisely what frightens your mother so much," he informed her. "She would never admit to it, but you are _exactly _how she was at your age. Full of spirit, with a thirst for life and adventure. A real force to be reckoned with," he explained. "She sees that same fire in you, and she's terrified that you'll follow in her footsteps and end up sailing into the sunset with some pirate you've fallen in love with, never to be seen again."

Lydia almost immediately thought of Billy upon hearing this. No, she didn't love Billy – they'd only just begun to get to know one another, after all – but if this newfound attraction between them was given the chance to grow and flourish, then she didn't think it absurd to consider that such feelings _might _come to be in the future. But was that really such a bad thing, her possibly falling in love with a man like Billy? So what if he had chosen a life of piracy? So what if he didn't have titles or land or money? Thus far he seemed like a good, honest man who treated her with respect, which was much more than what she could say for a 'man of promise' like Joffrey.

"It could be worse," Lydia found herself saying, "I could be shipped off to the mainland and married to a man who only wants me for his ownpleasure and to breed like an animal, never to be seen or heard from those I love ever again. For surely no proper, law-abiding man would allow his wife to consort with pirates," she paused to shoot her uncle a meaningful look, "even _if _they are blood relatives."

Evidently, Flint had never thought about it like that. He frowned deeply, looking very disturbed with the idea of some unknown man hiding Lydia away as though she were a prisoner, unconcerned with her as long as she gave him children, warmed his bed, and kept in line. "Contrary to what you may believe, I am _not _naïve, uncle," Lydia continued, "I am of age for marriage and know that it is expected of me to find a husband…" She trailed off and paused to make sure he was listening. "But if I am to marry, I want it to be because _I _wish it so, not because mother told me to. Don't I at least deserve the _chance _to find a decent man that would both make me happy and win both yours and mother's approval?"

Flint looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "What, exactly, is it that you are asking of me?" He questioned, obviously picking up on the fact that there was more to her words than just what she was saying.

"You said it yourself, you are the patriarch of this family now," Lydia told him. "As the man now raising me in place of my father, you and mother both know that I will not be married off to anyone unless _you _give your blessing." Flint waved a hand, motioning for her to get to the point. "Speak with mother," she bid him earnestly, "convince her to give me time to find my _own _way, find a man of _my _choosing. If there's anyone she will _actually _listen to, it's you."

Flint quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "It might not be so easy," he warned, "your mother is a hard woman to reason with when she has her mind set, much like someone _else _I know," he added with a sideways glance.

"Just _try_¸that is all I ask," Lydia persisted. Then, putting on the puppy-dog expression that always worked on him, she placed a hand on his arm and gave it a pleading squeeze. "_Please, _Uncle James," she begged.

It was a rare occasion indeed that anyone called Flint by his actual first name, so her use of it now let him know just how serious and important this was to her. He eyed her for a moment before releasing a small sigh that was very distinctly of defeat, making her spirits instantly start to brighten. "Alright," he finally reluctantly agreed, "I will see what I can do."

Lydia let out a sound of happiness and immediately wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him awkwardly from the side. Flint returned her gesture with another sigh of resignation, but she could tell by the expression on his face when she released him that it pleased him to know he had made her happy. "Thank you, uncle, thank you!"

Flint ruffled her hair again and grumbled under his breath. "Do not thank me yet," he said, obviously trying to keep her from getting her hopes up too much. "I cannot guarantee my hard-headed sister will listen to me. And speaking of your mother," he added, looking a little bit apprehensive now, "I think it wise that we both brace ourselves for the wrath we're about to face. She'll be none too pleased you spent the night in Nassau, and I expect will be wanting an explanation."

Lydia's happiness crumbled away in a flash. She hadn't stopped to think about how her mother would react to her staying in Nassau overnight – no doubt, the woman was indeed fuming mad over it. Lydia could imagine she was pacing the house right now, just waiting for them to return so she could give them an earful. "_Merde_." She found herself cursing in French, suddenly a little afraid.

Flint, looking mildly amused, hauled himself back up onto the saddle before extending a hand down toward her. "Come, we should get moving. The longer we take, the angrier she'll be."

Lydia nodded and took his hand, pulling herself up onto the saddle behind him. Once she was settled and had her arms wrapped securely around his waist, Flint dug his heels into the flanks of the horse, sending the beast forward again. And with that, they were on their way back home to face the fury of Margaret Cornish.

* * *

**No Billy, I know, and kind of a filler...a necessary evil, unfortunately. Thoughts?**


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